Mass Effect: Galactic Front
by Nevery
Summary: The Reapers are coming, The Reapers are here. Across the Galaxy new theatres of war are opening, fleets are mobilising, fighting sparks up on every front. The denizens of the galaxy are stumbling into a race against time, the finish-line for which is far out of sight. Herein are chronicled the trials of just a few of the galaxy's finest defenders: the heroes of the N7 initiative.
1. Chapter 1: Noveria-1

**Mass Effect: Galactic Front.**

**Author's Note:****And verily, it came to pass that _yet another_ writer set their hand to writing _yet another_** **story based on ****Mass Effect 3's stellar Multiplayer mode. But wait! This one is different... hopefully. My aim, as the title suggests is to try and capture the scale of the conflict that Shepard and co were faced with during the events of the third game, albeit through the eyes of plucky "N7" operatives, and various other entities. To that end, we won't always be focusing on engagements in fire-bases and during the narratives great set-pieces. In fact, we begin with a slightly more low-key adventure, set shortly before the Reaper War truly kicked off, and far away from the Alliance fleets.**

**It only remains for me to say that I hope you enjoy what follows - in this chapter and beyond. Of course, it goes without saying (but hey, I'll do it anyway) that if you do read this story and enjoy it, please click the review button when you're done and let me know what you think. I'm always open to criticism - the constructive variety is always welcome, but I'm thick-skinned enough to hear the worst and survive. I'm especially interested to hear what you think about the characters in this story - I love them to bits, but the important thing is that you do too. And while I've got you, if you do enjoy my tale, and do take a moment to review, then why not add this to your alert, so you never have to worry about missing an instalment!  
**

**I've blathered on for far too long, so I'll shut up now. In the immortal words of Scott Pilgrim: "Please to enjoy!"  
**

Chapter One:

Ford Llewellyn did not like Noveria. Not one bit. It wasn't the cold – no, he'd grown up in Wales, on Earth. So he was quite used to the cold, thank you very much.

No, it was the people on Noveria that he didn't like: every single bloody one acting as though they were the most important people in the entire bloody galaxy. He'd met Elcor that were more emotionally approachable – cold as the near-constant blizzard outside, this lot.

From his balcony position in Port Hanshan's banking plaza, he could watch the blighters: milling about, jabbering into their omni-tools, or engaged in conversations that amounted to little more than boasting and one-upmanship. Each and every one of them out to do nothing more than reel in the credits and stab backs.

There were few things that affected Ford's usual good-natured. Noveria, and its inhabitants had earned a prime position on his "list".

The one benefit about being here was that everyone underestimated him. Since his arrival, mere hours earlier, he had been systematically ignored – the bureaucrats and traders seeing only a short, stocky, rough-looking mercenary; someone of very little import, except as a potential hired fist. Though – as Ford would be the first to admit – this was not a million miles from the truth, the facts were a little more involved.

He was ex-Alliance, and although that was an accolade which would still not have impressed many of Noveria's finest, it was one that allowed him to stand here quite innocuously, and evaluate every inch of the plaza, and the people within it. A useful skill, when acting as a look-out.

His eye was caught, as a particularly well presented trader on the floor below him walked by. Not such a bad sight – he admitted grudgingly – for a Noverian. But there was something a little off about her good looks. Blonde hair, pulled back into a bun – with an almost artificial sheen, and not a single hair out of place. Cheekbones which were far too eye-catching to be original. A blue formal dress that had clearly been _calculated_ to be as practical and appealing as possible, looking like it had been designed with all the enthusiasm of a Geth. She glanced up – just for a moment – and Ford saw dull blue eyes, cold and dead. Ruthless eyes – soulless eyes, he would have said, if he believed in such things.

He looked away, with a dry chuckle and shake of his head. Impatiently, Ford drummed his fingers on the balcony handrail. He was already wishing he'd stayed on the ship.

What was taking Quinn so long?

* * *

Harry Quinn stopped making eyes at the Asari receptionist – the temporary distraction having run its course – as a Mauve skinned Salarian stuck his head around the large screen which separated his office from the waiting room.

"Quinn, my friend – come on in." The slim alien pulled the Noveria approximation of a warm smile and beckoned his human client in.

Harry flashed a wink at the Asari as he stood – then promptly forgot her, turning his attention to the Salarian.

"Maris. Thanks for seeing me." He moved over to Maris Echedon, taking his hand in a firm shake, and affording him a much more genuine smile.

Echedon's smile turned a jot more natural, as he ushered Quinn towards his office door.

"Lillan, hold my calls." He told the receptionist, with an airy tone that Harry thought seemed a little forced. No matter, Maris had always been a starch-arse.

Walking into Echedon's office, Quinn was stuck – as usual – by the number of reflective surfaces inside. He couldn't honesty take umbrage at the Salarian's evident narcissism, as he took this opportunity to inspect his own visage. A pair of eyes peered back at him from the polished glass desk: one blue and vibrant, the other green and dead – comprising of little more than deep, inky blackness, and a thin band of that sharp green. The cybernetic-prosthetic rotated slightly, taking in red hair, unkempt and ruffled after several days without attention. His face still held that open, mischievous quality that so often served him well, but now it was drawn and pale, with fresh frown lines and dark bags under his eyes.

Snapping out of the moment's vanity, he took a seat in front of Maris' desk, just as the Salarian slid round to sit on the other side. Maris leant back, interlacing his fingers as he peered across at his human client.

"Well, it's good to see you Maris."

"And you Quinn. But what can I do for you?"

"Straight to business then," Harry raised a rusty eyebrow, "It's my accounts of course – I want to empty them."

Maris blinked rapidly. This in itself was nothing out of the ordinary for a Salarian, but he accompanied the twitch with a nervous tug to his collar.

"Both... accounts? Empty them... completely?" He stuttered, and then attempted a somewhat forced chuckle. "You'd, ah, tell me if there was an issue, wouldn't you? The NDC's stock is higher than ever you know..."

"Yes Maris, I know." Quinn replied, not unkindly, "And my shares in the NDC have served me very well over the years. But lately I'm feeling like... making a few changes."

A pause. Outside the office's wide single window, a mute blizzard raged on; raw environmental fury totally at odds with the sterile port interior. The blur of snow reminded Harry of static on vid-screens, and he was reminded – not for the first time – of just how isolated Noveria was.

"You know something, don't you Harry." Maris was now visibly agitated, opening and closing his palms, rubbing his slim hands together, a reptilian tongue flickering over thin lips.

Quinn's own mismatched eyes narrowed; he'd not intended this meeting to drag on for so long. Ford would be getting agitated, might even decide to come find him. That would be a mistake: the less attention they attracted the better – especially with Echedon's nerves apparently playing up.

"What do you mean, Maris?" he fixed an enigmatic smile – one that had always served him well, "I know a lot of things, friend, you'll have to be more specific."

The Salarian leant forwards, frowning, "Don't bullshit me Quinn – you and your connections – you will **know** something. The Hegemony's gone dark; Batarians refugees are swarming in everywhere, with the fear of whatever God they have in them, off-world comms are getting patchy and Omega..." he made a noise somewhere between exasperation and concern, nostrils wrinkling contemptuously, "Well, clearly something is wrong with Omega or you wouldn't be here. Things are happening Quinn, anyone can see that; and here you are trying to clean out your accounts? Seems like you're trying to cut and run."

"You never used to pry this much Maris. Is the NDC encouraging you? Or did you just get nosy?" Impatience – not to mention apprehension – rising, he snapped back, "Echedon, I want my money. Now."

Maris' eyes had shifted away from Quinn – just for a second – jumping to the window, to an ostentatious Turian timepiece, then to the door, before they refocused on Quinn. He didn't quite meet the suspicious glare that Harry levelled his way.

"I... alright, then." Echedon tapped at his computer uncertainly, those beady eyes still rather restless.

"Maris... what the hell is wrong with you?" Quinn's left hand dropped a few inches, nearing the concealed holster at his hip; his voice adopting a cautious tone now, all pretences gone.

The Salarian forced his eyes onto his client, and opened his mouth.

_Crack. Cracka. Crack._

The staccato rhythm of gunfire flared up in the instant of silence, echoing from outside Echedon's office.

Quinn burst up from his seat, wheeling about; the frosted glass doors of the office gave away nothing, but the sounds of a skirmish grew, screams now accompanying the rattle of firearms.

He turned back, all thoughts from before forgotten – he owed it to his old friend to get him out in one piece. Quinn knew all too well who those guns belonged to, and knew that this wasn't Echedon's fight

"Maris – we need to –"

The Salarian was smiling.

Shock like a biotic's punch hit Quinn, then dissipated just as quickly as this new detail provided the last piece of a puzzle he'd been working with since he'd sat down across from the Banker.

"You are running, aren't you? They said you'd be coming. Trying to clean house – trying to make a getaway." Maris' thin lips were stretched in a foul-looking grin, hands folded neatly on his desk.

"You son of a scaly bitch." Quinn spat vindictively, he kicked back, knocking his chair away, his hand clamped at his hip, "You sold me out."

"Well, yes."

"_To Cerberus!"_

"Yes. Cerberus. They were really very insistent, and really very eager to talk to you. Not as Xenophobic as I remember though: they offered me a quite generous deal. Protection, in the main."

"Protection from what?" Quinn frowned; Maris' rationale – stupid as it was – had piqued his curiosity. He was still very much aware of the crashing gunfire outside, but hopefully the Elanus mercs would have responded by now.

"From what's coming you idiot." It was Maris' turn to scowl now, "From whatever is out there that got the Batarians. Cerberus knows even if you don't!"

"You idiot Maris. You paranoid bloody idiot... Cerberus isn't going to protect you..." he cut himself off, knowing that there was no point in arguing now. It was time to go. He pulled the Predator pistol from his hip holster, snapping his arm up and aiming, one-handed at Maris.

The Salarian practically jumped out of his seat, all the agitation from earlier reasserting itself, with interest.

"What! Come on now Quinn – you wouldn't – but no, of course you would," he looked caught somewhere between bitter realisation and abject terror, "H-how, did you even get that into the port. W-weapon's aren't allowed in Hanshan." Maris finished speaking in a very small voice, eyes locked on the pistol's barrel.

"Spectre's licence, Maris. Let's me take what I want, where I want." Quinn allowed a cruel smile to cross his features as he adjusted his aim.

"But you're not a Spectre." Maris whispered, eyes bulging.

"No, no I'm not."


	2. Chapter 2: Noveria-2

**A/N:****Chapter Two, made presentable for your reading pleasure. As always, I hope you enjoy this latest instalment. And if you do, be sure to leave a review telling me what you did/didn't like - or even anything you might be looking forward to!**

Chapter Two:

Ford dropped to his knees the second the firing started. Screams rang out as he crept forwards, heading for the small merchant's alcove at the back of the business atrium. He was running on soldier's instinct now: find cover, assess the situation from there. His Carnifex rested heavy in his hands as he slid into the alcove, and a one of a terrified pair of Asari let out a tiny shriek. Ford pressed a gloved finger to his lips, before popping his head up and peering through the shelter's glass screen.

He couldn't see much from here – at least, not much of what he guessed was happening further down the atrium. What he could see was the top of a set of stairs nearby, an ornamental water stream trickling alongside it, and a black and white head set upon a bulky pair of shoulders.

Cerberus.

So, they'd guessed right. The bastards really were determined to get Quinn. Well, that wasn't about to happen anytime soon.

The gunfire had largely died down – save for what he hoped was a smattering of warning shots. The alternative answer was a series of executions.

Of course, a lull would mean that the Cerberus soldiers – however many there were – would now be looking through the port's offices for Quinn and the Salarian. Now time to wait for the Elanus response – if there was going to be one.

"Risk control my arse." He grumbled, before turning back to the two Asari, "Right then ladies, just you two stay still and silent and we'll see you through okay."

With a stage whisper and a lopsided Welsh grin, Ford slid out of the alcove, and began to creep around the outside wall. The soldier he had spied now had his back to him, no doubt providing over-watch for a larger group in the lower plaza. A big bastard, wearing the same thick armour that Ford and Harry had seen during the Omega attack.

They were tough buggers in their shiny new duds, but – as he had discovered – a close-up shot from the good old hand-cannon would still tend to do the trick.

Moments later, Llewellyn would find his memory was not lacking. He lengthened his gait, rising as he did so, and reaching the Cerberus grunt quickly and quietly. In a fluid explosion of motion, the stocky Welshman clamped a burly arm around that thick neck, and shoved the pistol's barrel flat against the trooper's head. Before he could verbalise so much as an "Oh shit", of even a "fuck", the left side of the man's helmet was flying across the stairway – pursued by bone, gore, and cerebral matter.

It was then that Ford found he had miscalculated somewhat – his victim had not been alone in his stationing. The thundering report of the Carnifex drew the immediate – not to mention deadly – attention of another trooper. Without a thought for his comrade's corpse, he opened fire with one of the heavy M-96 Mattock rifles which Cerberus had taken to with such gusto. The heavy rounds thudded into the armoured cadaver, and – mercifully – Ford found that it held.

With a silent "thank you" to whoever had engineered the ranger protection on the new Cerberus plating, he braced himself, and then shoved the corpse – hard. It tumbled down the stairs, and at the same moment, Ford threw himself to the ground. A few frantic shots crashed over his prone form, but in an instant, the bouncing body had reached its target. It slammed into the second solider – who staggered violently, and in that second's pause Ford leapt up, firing two more round. The first clipped the hapless' troopers shoulder, but the second found its mark – the softer material of the neck-guard. With an awful gurgle, Ford's foe keeled over, dead before he hit the floor.

Llewellyn moved fast – vaulting down the stairs, and snatching up the fallen Mattock as he landed. He tossed aside the Carnifex, and dropped again, skidding into the cover of the low, second level balcony wall even as more Mattock rounds whizzed above him. He shuffled swiftly along the wall, trying his hardest to ignore the thumping rifle impacts following him.

The ordnance used in the Mattock rifles had some famously _brutal _stopping power at the best of times, so with no armour and no shielding, Ford was going to have to avoid getting shot even more so than he would usually have done.

Hoping against hope that he had moved far enough from where the troopers _thought_ he was, he took a breath and hopped up out of cover.

Four more soldiers. All in the courtyard. None in cover. Two in the open. Two by the exit that Quinn had taken.

In the instant that it took the Cerberus troopers to register his new position, Ford was just about able to assess the scene below, and snap off two of the rifle's three remaining shots.

He had to duck again before he could admire his handiwork, but judging by the muffled screaming that followed him he'd scored at least one fatality.

Any further exclamations were drowned out by the crescendo of rifles reports, and hiss of a vented heat sink. He crawled along behind the low balcony, heading for a new vantage point; but he was not going to be able to pull the same trick twice.

His ears caught a barked order, and the shooting stopped – only to be replaced by a much more worrying sound. There was a slight swish, and then a metallic clatter as a _grenade_ flew up onto his level, and hit the floor directly in front of him.

With no time to think, Ford reacted instinctively and did the last thing that either he or his enemies would have anticipated.

He pulled himself up, and vaulted over the second level balcony, down into the atrium courtyard.

The grenade's blast caught at his heels, singeing his legs and thrusting him just a little further – so that he landed just in front of a bewildered Cerberus trooper.

Ignoring the jarring impact on his legs, Ford gritted his teeth and grabbed at the trooper – as much for support as anything else – then thrust the Mattock into his midriff and fired the magazine's last shot.

Even as the man fell – his stomach blasted into a mess of metal and blood – the two remaining members of his cohort opened fire.

They were still close to the door, and it was probably the distance that saved Ford. The furthest soldier's shots buried themselves in his fallen comrade's slumping body; but the other had moved closer, and one of his rounds punched into Ford's shoulder. He bit back a yell as he felt the red hot projectile spear clean through muscle and bone, and he threw himself to floor - not quite sure how this action would help, but determined to keep moving.

Providence played its hand in the form of the dead terrorist's side arm: a brutish pistol – the "Talon", he seemed to remember? _Not important!_

He grasped it with his good hand, doing what he could to brace it with his damaged right arm, kicking himself up off the floor in a frantic lunge towards the two soldiers.

For a horrendous second, he tried to recall how many shots the pistol held – three? Four? But this was it – he pulled the trigger till the pistol clicked and he hit the floor again, as buckshot spewed out of the snub barrel, accompanied by four thunderous reports.

He had fired from a truly ridiculous dive, with the crippling pain of his ruined shoulder and a split second in which to share four shots between two armoured targets, and with murderous recoil to take into account – but somehow, miraculously, both white armoured foes fell. The nearest trooper's toppled without a word, the scatter blast tearing into his head and neck with a spray of gore, and the other collapsed, screaming, as the final volleys of shot caught him square in the chest.

Adrenaline keeping him mobile, Ford scrambled to his feet, and staggered towards the panting soldier. As he neared him, the man tried to lift his weapon – but Ford was still too quick. As he reached his victim, he brought up his omni-tool, and then plunged a hard-light blade down into his enemy's throat – finishing him off in a final, vibrant spray of blood.

Ford groaned, pulling away from the grisly execution and only managing to smear the splashes of blood that he tried to clean off. He turned to the office door that the troopers had been so focussed on – only to find them blocked.

She was stood there. The woman that had caught his eye earlier – blue dress, blonde hair, blue eyes. In her hand was a pistol that matched the one clutched in his own. As she levelled it at him, he was reminded uncomfortably of the soldier whose skull had _caved in _when he'd fallen victim to the pistol's devastating buckshot.

"Alright then luv, no need for any more of... all this eh?" he croaked, nodding over his shoulder at the scattered corpses behind him. But even as he spoke, his eyes were drawn again to hers. Those dead blue eyes, stripped of any mercy long ago. _Soulless. _

She was Cerberus.

**And he was dead.**

The shot, when it came, was much quieter than he'd expected. Substantially less painful too. Quite unlike his previous experiences with the Talon.

Then the Cerberus imposter sank slowly onto the ground, a red flower blooming darkly across her chest. Ford's eyes went with her, before they snapped back up.

Harry Quinn, grim faced, his shirt splashed with a cocktail of green and purple blood, stood in the doorway. His Predator pistol glowed slightly, trailing smoke as he lowered it.

"You're hurt." He spoke calmly, his face devoid of emotion. Even his eye gave nothing away. That was his gift – the deceiver's mask – but Ford knew better.

"Nothing a spot of the old medi-gel won't fix, Bach." Ford grinned unconvincingly, with a shrug that ended up giving away the searing pain in his shoulder, "You're all set then. Green blood, eh?"

"Echedon's. He sold us out." Quinn looked down at his shirt absent-mindedly, before moving over to Ford, activating the medical app on his omni-tool, "Cerberus got to him. The idiot... The purple is from his secretary, I had to..."

"Course you did," Ford cut in, knowing from experience not to let his friend dwell, "Shame about Maris, but this just shows us that the bastards aren't giving up after Omega – you were right to stay wary – Ouch!"

"Don't be such a child." Quinn muttered, finishing with the gel application, "Yes, yes I was right, and as usual neither of us have much cause to be pleased about that. They were never going to stop, of course, what I've got is too valuable to them."

Harry was already moving away, and as Ford turned to follow, he saw that several of the Noverian traders were reappearing; now the Cerberus troopers were neutralised.

All that remained for the two of them now, was to leave. However, even as he made off in the general direction of the space port, Ford became aware that Quinn was not with him. The taller man was walking, almost trance-like, towards a cluster of traders, crowded around a flashing vid-screen.

A shining cityscape met his eyes – all beauty marred by grievous, still smoking damage and the static of a disrupted feed. He saw scenes of utter devastation, and nightmarish, gargantuan dark blue shapes stalking high above, livid red beams carving into a city that was not his own, on a planet that was.

Any exclamation Ford Llewellyn could have produced was cut brutally short, as a singular, horrifying truth dawned upon him, Quinn, and all those present.

Earth was burning.

**A/N.02: ****Hopefully you've enjoyed all that you've just read, and hopefully you've begun to take a shine to Harry and Ford. If so, I'll have to disappoint you, as we'll be dealing with a whole new set of characters in the next chapter - but I'm sure you'll enjoy them just as much.**

**Don't forget to leave a review or even to add this story to your alerts so you can keep up with the narrative!  
**


	3. Chapter 3: SSV Drake, Shipbound1-1

Chapter Three.

**A/N:**** A change of scene - and characters here, as we meet a group that we might refer to as "Proto-N7"s. Be sure to leave review if you've been reading so far, with your thoughts on the story so far. It's always nice to know that people really _are_ reading what I write, and what they think of it.**

**If you've enjoyed our time with Quinn and Llewellyn, then don't despair, since they will be back. Eventually...  
**

"We should – "

"Mackenzie, if you say 'we should be down there' one more time, I swear to God I will send you down there myself. _Via planetfall_."

Alec Mackenzie opened his mouth to retort – then closed it again. They'd had this argument four times now, and – though he hated to admit it – Spector was right: there was nothing they could do.

That didn't make things any easier.

He tugged self-consciously and somewhat ineffectually at his close cropped hair. Little more than a month ago, he would have had locks of wavy blonde hair to pull on – a nervous reaction that had always maddened his father.

Then again, a month ago he had he would not have been this miserable.

He bowed his head, forcing his hands into fists, and hiding them under his forehead – trying to conceal the uncontainable, unwanted shaking that had seized him.

"Oh hell kid, I didn't mean that. But... come on, you know I'm right: Command wouldn't have ordered us off-world if there was anything we could do down there."

The "there" hung in the air like a dirty word, issuing guiltily from Luke Spector's lips as he spoke again, in a much softer tone this time.

"There" stood in place of "Earth", a name that neither of them could bare to say.

"I know that," Alec replied, through gritted teeth, "It's just... my family is down there... Mom, Dad, my sisters... I-"

Something caught in his throat, and he looked up, face contorted with worry and pain. Spector sat across from him, resolutely not meeting Mackenzie's eyes. The older soldier was still wearing his full combat armour, that red and white stripe that had so enthralled Alec to begin with now looked brash and foolish.

The N7 cleared his throat uncomfortably. Luke was a joker, a wise-cracking warrior who courted as much irritation from his superiors as he did commendation. He could face down a ship-full of Batarian Pirates and still crack a smile.

And as such, he was utterly at a loss when it came to comforting the anxious young rookie before him.

"Listen, Alec... "He began uncertainly, searching for a vocabulary that he did not posses. He was saved this difficult task as the swish of the mess hall doors cut him short.

Captain Nathan Harker stood in the doorway, his stubbled jaw set grim and firm, as his steely grey eyes focused on Spector and Mackenzie. Harker too, worse his full battle plate and his personal N7 markings were evident.

'Suits him a lot better.' Alec thought, for a sour moment.

He had a point, in a way. Spector was taller, and athletic, with sharp green eyes and untidy black hair. At any other time, he would have had a self-assured grin plastered across his face – completing an image that leant itself more to a cocky, bright-eyed mercenary, than a Lieutenant of the Systems Alliance. Harker on the other hand, had the look a career soldier; broad and powerfully-built where his protégée was thin, with wide soldier's shoulders, and arms that had taken recoil from the heaviest of weapons and stayed steady. His hair was not cropped like Mackenzie's new-recruit buzz, but kept short and manageable; dark brown, but tending to grey at the temples; it grew above a shrewd, but trustworthy face. The face of a leader, thought Mackenzie – not for the first time – a man who had seen the wonders and the trials of the galaxy, but one who was still dedicated to its safety.

Harker spoke, in a customarily low, measured tone, "We're needed. War room."

Luke scrambled up immediately, heading over to join the older N7; but Nathan nodded him onwards, indicating for the LT to go on ahead, to leave him alone with Alec.

Mackenzie rose stiffly, the indignation that had come so easily during the last few days already asserting itself again. He knew what was coming, knew that Harker would try to deny him a chance to take to the field – sure that the Captain thought him too green.

It was to his surprise then, to find that Harker was grinning.

"You're expecting me to forbid you from coming along, aren't you?" the Captain raised an eyebrow, still smiling fondly at him.

"Well, yes." Alec glared back – 'expecting' wasn't as appropriate as 'daring', at the current moment.

The N7 Captain laughed outright, and Alec opened his mouth to protest – superior officer or not, he was damned if he was going to be laughed at, and then left to stew onboard, while Harker and the other went off to do... whatever this mission involved.

"Calm down Mackenzie. I'm **not **going to try and stop you from doing anything. It wouldn't be fair, and besides, I hardly have that right – I'm not your father, after all."

Even that should have hurt – should have been a painful reminder that his actual father was absent and in danger. But somehow, hearing these words, from this man, in this context, it made Alec feel much, much better.

"I – you're not going stop me?"

"No, I'm not. Even if I intended to, I wouldn't be able to make the order stick", he nodded softly out of the door, with a low chuckle, "I've taught Luke everything he knows, but I've never been able to get him to stay put when I tell him to. And Mackenzie, listen: you fought well on the ground, on our way off-planet. I'm not going to handle you with kid-gloves."

Gratitude coursed through Alec – making him feel more alive than he had in all the torturous time since they'd fled Earth. He was grinning like an idiot – but he didn't acre. All he knew was that was headed on his first true field mission – alongside N7 Veterans no less. Finally, a chance to strike back at the Reapers – the enemy that was holding his family, his planet, his species as hostages.

"I... thanks... Sir." He mumbled, eyes not quite meeting his benefactor's.

Harker frowned, showing the shadow of indecision for a split second, and then he was turning away, heading out of the Mess Hall.

"No need for thanks Mackenzie – it's nothing." He muttered.

Alec moved to the Captain's side quickly, touching him nervously on the arm, "It's not nothing, Sir. It's... it means a lot," His eyes met Harker's , full of youthful, earnest promise "and I won't let you down."

**A/N:**** Hope you've enjoyed this introduction to the "other protagonists", as we'll be following their adventures for the next few chapters. Make sure you click that little button below and leave a review or two!**


	4. Chapter 4: Luna-1

Chapter Four: [Priority Luna]

The SSV Drake slunk into position over the dark side of a perfectly innocuous moon.

Few ships in the Alliance Navy were properly capable of _slinking_, but the Drake was of a size to allow a certain degree of stealth to influence its manoeuvres.

Principally used for a combination of reconnaissance and covert transport (thanks to its spacious lower decks), the Drake was the result of an Alliance project to replicate the fabled SSV Normandy's prestigious stealth systems – albeit on a larger scale. Whilst not technically a failed venture, the program had been shut down due to reallocation of expenses, subsequent lack of funding, and an absence of necessity; all this left the Drake, and its sister ship, the Raleigh, as the only two products of the short-lived project. The Raleigh had been stripped for parts when the Alliance "required" the Normandy, and then utterly destroyed when the Reapers attacked Vancouver. The Drake had been undergoing routine systems checks at the same time, and had been scrambled off-world during the initial invasion – evacuating a handful of military and naval personnel by the skin of their teeth.

So it was a skeleton crew that eased Drake into orbit over Luna. It was fitting, in some strange way, that one of the Alliance's few proper 'stealth ships' found itself behind what were now enemy lines, in what had once been a much more welcoming system.

* * *

"So, we finally get to answer that ancient question."

"I'm really going to regret asking what you're talking about, aren't I?"

"I don't know, you haven't asked yet."

Teresa Grant rolled her eyes, simultaneously flicking at a resistant strand of dark hair, irritation evident. She fixed Luke Spector with a wary gaze, as she replied icily, "What. Age. Old. Question?"

"Is it made of cheese?" Spector asked innocently, pointing at the War Room's tactical holo-display, upon which a 3D image of Earth's only moon revolved slowly.

Teresa groaned. "How the hell you ever made N7, I will never understand."

Before Luke could retort, however, the sound of a throat being cleared brought them both up and to attention.

"With specific regard to Lieutenant Spector, that is a question I ask myself almost daily, Operative Grant." Ship-Captain Magnusson clambered up onto the war room's central dais, his customary 'bad-smell-under –the-nose' expression in evidence. He glared at the two of them – more as a matter of form than anything else – as, close behind him Captain Harker and Serviceman Mackenzie made their own way up.

Magnusson took a moment to look over his meagre contingent of Operatives, before launching into a typically blunt speech.

"The only reason that we're still _skulking_ around the Sol system is because of that moon," He jabbed at the holo-display, "and the assets held on its surface."

"**The **Moon." Corrected Luke instinctively – forgetting for a moment that Magnusson was a Spacer, and possessed a singular lack of sentimentality. Another glare from Magnusson, and a joint cuff round the hair from Nathan _and _Teresa quickly set him straight.

Continuing as thought nothing had happened, the Drake's Captain brought up another display – this of a stout Alliance bunker, "this is your target: one of our lunar outposts, this one teeming with teeming with sensitive data. Service records, defence contingencies, ship schematics, Planet-side safe houses, supply lines, fleet protocols, transport routes – the kind of stuff that could stop this war effort in its tracks if the Reapers get hold of it. Our main defences down there went dark just before the Reapers hit – it was our first and last warning sign, in fact."

"But we're still got Reaper forces down there, correct?" Harker chimed in, attempting to redirect focus as the mood around the table drifted into a sombre silence.

"Correct," continued Magnusson, with a nod of acknowledgement, "Or at least we have to assume there are. Until now, we'd assumed that the moon bases were a lost cause, but with the main Reaper force in the system concentrated on Earth, we have a window here to run damage control. This needs to be a hit and run though, get in, extract the data, and get out – the main thing is to ensure that that base is wiped clean, or the Reapers are going to be able to anticipate every action we try against them."

"Sir?" Alec piped up, "Why was so much data there in the first place?"

Magnusson turned his customary glare on the young marine, but Grant got there first.

"Does it matter?" She sighed, already moving away from the tactical display, "We've got a jab to do, and that's a damn sight better than staring at vid-feed and moping."

She led the way over to the exit, followed quickly by Luke – who shot Alec a quick 'she's not usually grumpy' look – and then more reluctantly by the blonde serviceman. Harker paused at the lip of the dais. The marine Captain had a curious look in his eyes, as though not quite satisfied with the briefing.

"That's all then?" he raised an eyebrow at his fellow Captain, taking the place of an unspoken question.

Magnusson's frown deepened and he offered the subtlest of shrugs, "Yes. That is all. We'll send the bunker's full schematics once you're in the shuttle – so go get suited up."

Nathan nodded silently in acceptance, and joined that other three as they made for the doors. As they were about to leave, Magnusson called after them one last time, with something that might have been a smile – on anyone else – playing on his lips "Just in case the importance of this assignment hasn't sunk it yet: it comes directly from Top Brass. So do try to come back alive."

**A/N: So, some information on our heroes craft of choice, the Drake, and - hopefully - an interesting briefing. Next chapter will have some Moon-bound combat, for anyone missing the excitement of the battle on Noveria.** **This mission will be going on for the next few chapters****, before we revisit some friends.**

**In reply to NLReal - thanks first of all for the review&follow pal - hopefully this gives a little more of idea of where we're heading. I'm loath to speak too much, as I don't want to pre-emptively reveal ****any plot points. However, the Drake side of the story will be moving towards the kind of lovely inter-species co-operation inspired by the multiplayer.**  
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	5. Chapter 5: Luna-2

Chapter Five: [Priority: Luna] Cont.

The Kodiak UT-47A shuttle came to an uneven halt, several feet above the dusty landing zone. Grin hidden behind a full-face recon hood, but very nearly _audible_, Luke Spector glanced back at his squadmates.

"One small step f-"

He was cut off suddenly, as Teresa Grant shoved him roughly out of the shuttle's doorway. Mackenzie followed him quickly, and landed softly – cushioned by the Moon's lesser gravity – straightening up and doing his best not to laugh.

Harker hung back, allowing Teresa to head out next, though he raised his eyebrows at her from behind his visor.

"You two are going to be the death of me, you know that?"

"_The two of us?_" She grimaced, "He's the one who can't stay serious even as the Galaxy goes to shit."

"I know, I know he's an idiot. But it's his way, and besides: he's our idiot, right?" he tilted his head to one side, offering a sheepish smile – the effect on which was lost somewhat, since his helmet breather rendered in invisible.

"Ah, no – he's _your_ idiot. I blame you entirely." She rolled her eyes, but there was enough mirth in her words to put Nathan a little more at ease.

In moments, the four of them were gathered together at the foot of a sloping hill. The two N7s took point, with Teresa just behind as they moved swiftly up the slope. The three had moved with an accord that approached symbiosis, and it took Alec a moment to catch up and fall in behind them.

As they crested the hill, all traces of their tenuous banter died. Several yards ahead, on the other side of the slope, a smattering of Husks loped and crawled over the craters and crags. Five of their bizarre Batarian fellows were clustered around a low rising bunker hatch, three of them hammering dead fists against the door.

Luke dropped to one knee, adjusting the scope of his N7 Valiant – and seemingly his attitude – peering intently towards the Reaper's macabre minions.

"Nate," he addressed his mentor instinctively, clearly more used to his company that the others, "I'm counting seven of those regular Husks – I can smoke a couple from here, but the rest will come running while I reload."

"And with those Cannibals up ahead..." the Captain mused, leaning over to steal a glance down the rifle scope. "You can get them – three shots right? Between us the husks aren't a huge threat – cover's scare, so we'll need to –"

Teresa interrupted him, clearing her throat indignantly, "Yeah. Hi. Me and Alec – we're what? Chopped liver?"

Harker nodded ruefully, "Old habits Terry, my mistake." He took a moment to reconsider, "Okay, here's how we'll play it: Luke, take your shots – hit the Cannibals nearest us first – Terry, I want some crowd control on the Husks; Alec and I will clear up." He hefted an M99-Saber, as Mackenzie fell in beside him, gripping his own Avenger rifle.

Three shots crashed out of Spector's rifle, the Valiant's slower rate of fire compensated for by the Cannibals' sluggish reactions, and his own honed marksmanship. The first two rounds scored clean headshots, crumpling the creatures' hunched skulls. A third staggered forwards, and Spector's final shot burst its synthetic gut, sending out a spray of viscous silver and red.

Grant's incineration tech blossomed silently into life, and moments later the glowing "fire"ball _splashed _into the first of the running husks that were scrambling towards the four marines. The super-hot projectile hit the lead Husk full in face, igniting the dead mix of flesh and cybernetics. As the creature fell, writhing and howling, the burning plasma leapt out, catching two more of the Reaper slaves and burning them to cinders in moments. Rising, Harker and Mackenzie laid down a withering rate of fire – Alec spraying the nearest Husks, their bodies twisting as round after round crashed into them. At his side, the Captain chose his shots with more care, his Saber firing semi-automatic shots with crippling stopping power. His first victim's head exploded in a shower of blue-grey fluid; the second lost an arm, and was put down a second later with a devastating shot to the neck.

The remaining two Cannibals had already begun to fire, and Alec stumbled back as a round smashed into his shoulder. Mercifully, his shields held, and even as he righted himself to return fire the enemies crumpled under the combined assault from Grant's Paladin pistol and Spector's reloaded Valiant.

The last enemy toppled silently, dragged slowly to the ground, and Spector snapped a spent thermal clip from his rifle absent-mindedly, admiring their handiwork.

Stood still, they shared a solemn moment. The scattered Reaper remains drew each of them back to the inescapable elephant in the room. They had annihilated these enemies, but on Earth, the battle was going in a very different direction. Alec couldn't help but feel grateful that his home planet was not visible from this part of Luna. He didn't think he could have born seeing his home burn; so near, and yet so far away.

The quiet was broken by a buzz, and then speech from their comms array.

"Ground team – this is Specialist Renton back, on board the Drake – we're looking at your location on our holo-map now and we have bad news – seven, no nine hostile en route to the bunker site."

"Copy that Drake." Harker took the initiative, heading towards the bunker entrance and signalling the others to follow, "Can you give us a twenty on those hostiles?"

"South-West of you, Captain, and moving in with... fifteen yards to go. Let me just go to ground level... they'll be cresting the slope on your right very, very soon." The Specialist remained professional, but there was a veneer of nervous energy in the young man's words, "Captain Magnusson is advising you move ahead with the core objective, Sir."

"Noted Renton, thank you." Harker closed off the ship-to-surface channel, addressing his team instead. "Terry, I need that hatch open – be quick and get inside, Mackenzie go with her, you two are on extraction duty. Luke, with me, we'll deal with the Reapers, we need this area cleared for extraction. I don't Terry and Alec grabbing the data and then walking straight back into the enemy's' hands."

"Claws. Husks have claws."

Teresa was already at the bunker door as she threw an unconvincing "Shut up Luke." In reply to Spector's quip.

Alec meanwhile, stayed where he was.

"Sir, I'd feel better up here." He muttered, eyes on the slope that the Drake's Specialist had identified, "The Reapers could be here any minute, and I want to be here fighting 'em."

Harker's eyes flicked to the hill for a moment as well, before he turned Alec back towards the bunker with a steady push on his shoulder.

"Work with me here Alec. We need the files in that bunker, and Magnusson told us the defences inside could still be active. I need to know Teresa's got a little extra firepower going in – I'm not having her hit by rogue turrets while she's running an extraction."

Alec frowned, and would have said more – but at that moment there was a noise of triumph from Teresa.

"Doors are open – come on Mackenzie, or at least give me your rifle. S'like the skipper says: could be nasties in here too." With that, she locked a hand around Alec's wrist, and dragged him into the bunker's gaping entryway. Caught off-guard by the petite engineer's strength, he stumbled after her.

The last thing he saw, as he cast reluctant eyes back at the closing doors, was the ominous sight of the two N7s checking their weapons, and turning the to South-West.

**A/N:**** I'm afraid this will be the last chapter until Friday at the earliest. I am away on Wednesday and Thursday for some very important interviews, so I won't be able to post anything new. Once I'm back however, I should be able to get significantly more work and posting done - so you can look forwards to that. Sorry for the inconvenience folks, but I hope you're enjoying the story so far. **

**Be sure to leave some reviews for me to come back to!  
**


	6. Chapter 6: Luna-3

Chapter Six: [Priority: Luna]

Nathan couldn't hear the heavy bunker doors closing behind him – probably for the better. The clang they would have made might have sounded far too funereal.

He turned to Luke Spector, his protégé and comrade of five years, and motioned for him to follow.

In silence, they approached the sheer left hand side of the bunker. As they made the curve, Harker spied what he was looking for: a sturdy service ladder that allowed access onto the roof, where a pair of wrecked sentry turret hung, forlorn and useless.

Already anticipating his instructions – something he had learned to do a very long time ago – Luke followed quickly as Nathan clambered up on top. The N7 sniper rose up just behind the Captain, and – again with no need for direction – he positioned himself, lying prone with his rifle propped up and ready.

Harker crouched beside him, taking cover behind one of the ruined sentries, peering in the same direction: the slope that their Ship's Specialist had marked as the arrival spot for oncoming hostiles.

"Good to see Teresa again." He murmured idly.

"Sure." Came Luke's response, a little more clipped that usual, "Always good to see Terry."

"I don't think I'll ever understand you two," sighed the older N7, breaking off for a moment, and dropping his casual tone for 'the Captain's voice', "Reapers should be closing in, take a shot as soon as you see something solid."

Luke nodded briskly in reply, and then broke out again, interspersing his quick-fire retort with last minute battle talk, "What's to understand? We snark and snipe at each other – that's just what we do. -You want to spook them as soon as possible right? Keep them back at the slope. -Sure, we used to be chummier, but that was before she dropped out of N-training and decided she couldn't trust us anymore. –I assume the plan is to fire and keep on firing?"

"You've got it – I want these things dead and rotting long before Terry and Alec get back topside, take 'em down quickly and comfortably." He turned narrowed eyes on Spector, "That's bull and you know it Luke. Teresa never 'dropped out' – you and I both know that whatever she ended up doing has been damn important, and **I** trust **her** enough not to have to pry. Back when I met the two of you, you were thick as thieves; now, anytime you're in the same room your jokes get worse than usual and she can barely stand to acknowledge you. I suppose it was too much to hope that the shitstorm on Panzaem would have sorted you both out."

Luke had stayed quiet whilst Nathan had grumbled at him, his mind slipping back – years back – to the first days of his N7 training, when he'd first met Harker, and first lost Teresa.

"Look... I... "He frowned down the scope of his rifle, searching for words as much as targets, "Panzaem is old news. Terry hitched me out of the fire, and I did the same to her. But that was just routine – wasn't going to fix things. I've known her for longer than you, Nate, so it's harder for me to stay sanguine while she's dashing around doing whatever covert bollocks she got herself involved in. The day she left training, I had no idea why, and she's never deigned to fill in the blanks. So now it's just my usual 'lame jokes as a defence mechanism' whenever I have to interact with her. Call it dysfunctional, but I'm in no hurry to fix our 'friendship', it's not my fault..." He trailed off, his rambling reaching a rather indecisive, self-conscious conclusion. Moments later, he let out a muttered "Contact.", and the stock of the Valiant bucked into his shoulder as he let off a single round, which smashed into the skull of a hapless Cannibal – the first of the finally-arrived foes.

Nathan sighed again. Ever since the first split between Grant and Spector, he'd tried this line of conversation countless times with both of them, never meeting with any progress. At a time like this, he needed the two of them focused, needed their tenuous friendship repaired. But for now, he couldn't bring himself to push Luke any further – mature conversation always took its toll on the younger N7.

"All right, fine. But what about our _friendship_, eh? Why don't you take me anywhere nice anymore?" he raised an eyebrow through his helmet, nudging the sniper jovially – trying to meet Spector on his own level. Then, hoping he'd done enough to ease the moment's tension, he delivered his own shots, dropping a Batarian-Husk with two shots to the chest, even as five of its fellows lumbered forwards.

Luke grumbled – though it was with a clear edge of mockery now, "Don't make funnies Nate – jokes and shots are just two of the many things that I can pull off better than you do." He took that as his cue to deliver s second perfect headshot – eliciting a mixed sense of pride and frustration in Harker, "Besides, I brought you to the Moon – what could be sweeter?"

**A/N:**** Much shorter chapter this time around - sorry. This was due to be part of a much larger instalment, but al told it would have been _obscenely _long, so I've cropped it down. With luck, I should have anther chapter up tomorrow (after the next week updates should be even more regular, since my interviews and term-time will be over, and I can put more time into writing and uploading). Thanks to you again, NLReal, for the review - I'll be sure to reply in more detail in the next update, as you've given me some really great (and really welcome) feedback. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter - I had a little trouble getting it expressed properly, so I may even go back and refine it later. **

**Have a good one folks.  
**


	7. Chapter 7: Luna-4

Chapter Seven: [Priority: Luna]

They'd descended into the bunker's short, sloping airlock and found themselves in a dimly lit entrance area. An abandoned security booth stood to the immediate right, and a pair of doors beckoned from the far wall.

"Spooky." Teresa Grant muttered humourlessly, as she walked briskly across the room, heading instinctively for the left hand exit. Alec moved with more caution, Avenger assault rifle gripped tightly as his eyes darted around – sweeping every shadow.

The rifle was nothing special, but in the ever changing world of galactic armament, it endured with a comforting reliability. Truthfully, in that frantic flight that had seen him escape Earth, the Avenger had been the first weapon available to him. It had served him well since then, and now he clutched it with a burning determination.

Teresa was already moving on to the next room but turned back, halfway through the doorway, and beckoned Alec on with an exasperated air.

"Stop jumping at shadows Mackenzie – let's get this over and done with."

"Sorry Lieutenant Grant, I'm just thinking – "

"No need for ranks and saluting – Terry is fine." She flashed him a more sympathetic look, then turn back, leading the way down a narrow corridor.

"Right, but it's just that the Captain mentioned base defences." He continued doggedly, "And we haven't seen any so far, so they could be... out of sight... And Reapers _are_ pretty good with tech..."

Finding the next door locked, Grant set her omni-tool to hacking, and raised an eyebrow at her companion.

"So you think the Reapers could have compromised the base's security? Overwritten the turrets?"

"Well, yes, Lieu- ah, Teresa."

"Fair theory," she smiled – genuinely this time, "But if they could hack the guns, surely they'd have got the doors open too."

Alec's face fell – he was half disappointed, he realised. He'd perversely hoped for something more to shoot. Anything to shoot. Anything to draw his mind off Earth, and off his family.

The door beeped, and slid open.

"Don't torture yourself Alec – we're doing good work here. We'll be in and out and back to killing Reapers upstairs in no time." Grant stepped lightly into the next room.

And a sentry turret waiting right on the other side.

Alec swung his rifle up and into position, lightning quick, but knowing it was too late.

"No!" Teresa hissed, throwing a hand back, grasping at the end of his weapon. "Its... this is its back. It's facing away from us." She sighed, her voice a slightly tremulous combination of relief and curiosity.

Alec breathed out too, adrenaline still pumping through him, his Avenger still ready, eyes fixed on the turret.

Slowly, carefully – as though trying not to wake the thing up – Teresa edged towards the sentry. Suddenly, Alec's hand shot out – grasping at her shoulder, pulling her back.

Anger flashed in Terry's eyes for a moment, and she was ready to wheel about and tear into the young marine – then she saw what she'd seen: the turret's barrel raising itself up, and beginning to turn about, starting a hideous pirouette.

Mackenzie let go of Teresa, and – dropping his rifle – threw himself forwards, giving the sentry a hefty shove.

Thankfully, it was by no means a sturdy model, and the thing clattered backwards, falling further into the room. But even as it fell, the gun spun upwards and towards the two Alliance soldiers.

The staccato clatter of gunfire broke the base's eerie silence, and the fallen turret combusted violently, and rounds slammed into it from some space unseen on the right.

"Okay then, right." Teresa muttered, brows working themselves into an edgy frown, "Yeah, well. Good call then, Mackenzie."

Alec allowed himself a slightly giddy grin, "You're welcome, Terry."

The Engineer rolled her eyes at him, and then muttered with what sounded like a mix of wistfulness and irritation, "You're nearly as bad as Luke." She reached for something on her belt, as Alec shifted a little uncomfortably. Then he shot a look towards the right side of the room – still hidden by the angle of the doorway.

"I think, maybe, we could take it – whatever it is," he piped up, "It's around this corner, but if we go as one, we could – what's that?" His would-be battle plan was cut short as he spied the spherical object that Teresa has pulled from her belt.

Without pausing to reply, she pulled a small pin from the device, and tossed it lightly around the corner.

A burst of gunfire was cut short by the flame that burst suddenly violently, from the direction of the hidden turret.

Alec's helmet filtered out the worst of the firebomb's screech, but it took a moment before his brain stumbled out of the combat haze. It was then that he heard the music.

Tinkling Pianos were not Alec's forte. Before he'd enlisted his musical tastes had not stretched far beyond club anthems that would barely perforate sweaty, celebratory enthusiasm. So as the uncanny tones of a piano composition – which he really _should _recognise – drifted towards him he was totally at a loss to identify it. From what he could see of Teresa's quizzical eyes, she was similarly ignorant.

"Captain Magnusson said the base was unstaffed, didn't he?"Alec found himself whispering; something prickly in the base of his mind told him not to follow the music to its source.

"He did, yeah." Teresa murmured, unconvinced and unhappy, as another thought pushed itself into her mind. "He said it was abandoned right now, but it that's true..."

She broke off, finally venturing into the turret room, looking right and left. The scorched metal floor and gently burning debris were as she expected, but another door covered the left side.

"...Then why were the turrets facing inwards? And why is there a bloodstain at the foot of that door?"

Alec moved around to inspect the scene for himself, immediately seeing the red smear that had splashed onto the floor before the left-hand door. A red smear that looked worryingly wet.

"Reapers don't bleed red." He said, too distracted to be embarrassed by the inherent 'no-shit' nature of his observation.

Teresa unclipped the Paladin at her waist, and readied a cryo program on her omni-tool. Alec followed her lead, hefting his Avenger into place once more.

"I don't want to take chances. We go in hot and hit _anything_ on the other side." Grant muttered, tone completely devoid of anything but focus and professionalism. Alec could not help but note the sudden commanding air that emanated from the short engineer, and he found himself quite suddenly wondering just why her steel-grey armour did not bear the red ranking of their two absent teammates.

The door's holo-lock glimmered orange and shuddered as Grant tore into its lock programming, and then slid quietly open. They were already moving, but Alec stumbled to a halt, taking a sharp breath as he saw what was inside. Over the room's threshold were the prone and bloodied forms of two Alliance marines, and slightly beyond them, a similarly defiled technician, the man's fatigues marred by a smattering of savage gunshot wounds. It had to have been the turrets.

Not missing a beat, Teresa stepped over and around the corpses with all the grace of a particularly ruthless ballerina.

"Check 'em." She barked, and Alec acquiesced, gently inspecting the fallen soldier. He'd seen Alliance – human causalities back on Earth of course, but as his suddenly plummeting stomach could attest, it never got any easier. He confirmed their vitals – or lack thereof – with a quick swish of his omni-tool, and did his best to avoid the blank stares from their visors.

Brown eyes.

His sister had – _still has_ – brown eyes.

The music, totally at odds with this macabre scene, still played on – louder now – and Alec wanted to find that source, find it and _demolish_ it, as though the key strains were had given the rogue order for the men's deaths.

Teresa was straightening up from the tech's body, and seemed to be adjusting the comms receiver on her helmet. That was strange; he hadn't heard _anything_, not with the awful music playing around the room.

"T- Teresa, this is really, really wrong, I think we sh – "

"Shut up!" she hissed in reply swatting a hand at him, and glaring in his direction, hand still pressed to her helm.

The young private glared back impulsively. He was stressed, spooked, and pissed off. He began to open his mouth again, to frame some rebuttal, but then Grant muttered a muted "Ok." She turned back to him.

"Sorry. Mackenzie." She spoke in a clipped, harassed tone, a million miles away from any voice she used earlier. "That was... Harker – private channel – force of habit. Nothing to worry about. I need to do my extraction, and then we can head for evac." With that, she turned on her heel, heading towards a large set of computer banks and flickering holo-screens at the room's far end.

Alec shrugged, sighed, and looked around anxiously.

"Hey, can you – "he begun.

The music suddenly died.

"Thanks."

"Mm-hm." Teresa mumbled reply came quiet and tinny. He watched her – working quickly as the extraction tech set up. Her shoulders hunched, crouched low and tense. Alec was no expert in body language, but he knew enough to see that Teresa Grant was not happy.

"My name is Isaac Abrahms, You _must listen!_ This facility is all wrong! Everything inside here must be contained and dest-"

The voice, full of feverish fear and a maniacal panic, broke the silence without warning. It seemed to come from the computer banks, and it was there that it suddenly crackled and died – the panicked voice cut short mid-flow. Mid... _warning?_

"What the hell was-"

Teresa interrupted him again, "Nothing. Mistake. Wrong files – old training protocol." She barely stopped for breath, her sentences contracted as much as was possible as her fingers frantically danced over a keyboard.

Then, a sigh of relief, and she was already moving towards him and the door.

"C'mon. We're going."

"Right behind you." He flashed a heartfelt grin as he followed her out. For a first field mission, this had not been what he'd expected. But he was glad now – both that he'd been a part of it, and that it was over. Every mission would bring him closer to home – closer to family. Closer to Earth.

**A/N:**** Again, thanks for the feedback NL. Glad you're enjoying the writing, and hopefully you'll find the story more engaging soon - I'll be the first to admit, that I have pacing issues at times. You're right of course, I do have my big old plans - getting them out on paper is the problem! Anyway, constructive critique is always to best kind, so cheers. I hope anyone else reading this is also enjoying the story so far.**


	8. Chapter 8: Luna-5

Chapter Eight: [Priority: Luna], part five

Another Cannibal fell, an extra hole visible between its four existing eyes.

"Running low on ammo Nate," Luke half-crowed, "Soon I'm gonna have to let you get some of them."

"This is the beauty of being a Captain Luke," Harker deadpanned, "You get henchmen to do everything for you."

"I am _not_ a henchm-"

"No you're not; 'goon' is a more appropriate label." Teresa Grant's voice buzzed over the comm.-feed. Nathan would have snorted at the jibe, had he not expected it was almost entirely heartfelt. He noted a distinct edge in Teresa's voice that bothered him.

He hunkered down love, using the roof's raised comms array as cover. The bunker's topside had been littered and scored with shots, but thankfully both he and Luke had escaped unscathed thusfar. The bodies of fallen Cannibals lay scattered across the narrow stretch between the bunker and the hill that seemed to be the only entry point they had considered. However, the rate at which the Reapers were receiving reinforcements was worrying him, as their enemies loping sluggishly but determinedly forwards.

"Terry – give me good news." He grunted, wincing as an enemy round smacked into the aerial behind him. "You two okay?"

The Engineer's voice came back again, still terse, "Yeah, we're done here. I've got the intel, and we're at the exit. Give us the green light and we can join you."

The presented a problem, Nathan thought, as he glanced back towards the terrain before them. Four Cannibals – two with that awful armour they gained by living up to their names – had taken advantage of Luke stopping to reload, and were trudging towards the bunker, firing doggedly. He rolled about, cracking off a dozen Saber shots. The two unarmoured Reapers fell, but their fellows continued on – and yards back, yet another group was cresting the hill.

"Captain you there?" Alec's voice popped into his ear, "Need a hand?"

The young man sounded livelier than Grant, but there was still a measure of agitation there that Harker attributed to merely battlefield nerves.

He thought hard: could he advise their exit with this any hostiles converging on the base?

He opened up another frequency and spoke quickly.

"Drake, this is Captain Harker with the away team – we need an evac asap. We have operatives effectively pinned here, and I'm not bringing them out until I know we can make a clean getaway." From the open channel he could hear Mackenzie and Grant groan in unison.

"Captain – I think we could make it out okay. I think we need to. There's something really _wrong _about this base: we found – "Alec started out, tone flecked with a stronger anxiety now – but in a moment he was cut off.

"Captain, hold on." The shuttle pilot – Harker remembered the name _Charlie?_ – spoke rapidly into his ear, "I thought it would be a good idea to stick around and I'm on my way towards you. Sit tight folks!"

Nathan breathed a sigh of relief – slightly too early.

"Down to my last clip Nate. Three rounds left." Luke's face was obscured by his recon hood, but Harker could still see the muscles beneath the mesh pulling into a tight grimace.

As if on cue – the Cannibals at the ridge began to move forwards. Harker counted six, and with a curse he rose up – firing heavy shots into one of their armoured forerunners. The thing collapsed onto one knee just as his rifle clicked empty – and in that moment Luke expended one of his four shots, downing it. However, the thing's fellow was still up and moving, and with an unanticipated speed it swept its arm up and fired.

SMG rounds crashed into Harker's chest, and he toppled back – hearing a panicked cry from Luke.

Then there was a muted mechanical clang, and a burst of automatic fire.

Even as Luke reached him – his feverish murmurings barely audible – the Captain realised that his shields had held. Just. His chest ached, but he was alive, and as he crawled back to the lip of the roof he saw that his attacker was not.

"You two alright? _Luke?_ Harker?" Teresa's voice filled his helmet, and Nathan suddenly realised what had happened. Grant and Mackenzie had forced the bunker doors open, and were firing – semi- blind – from the cover of the passageway.

"Answer me you goddamn idiots!"

"We're okay Terry," he could practically hear Luke's relieved grin as the sniper answered, "Skipper got himself shot but the wuss had his shields turned up to eleven."

Not for the first time, Nathan worried about his protégé's coping methods.

"Good to hear Lieutenant!" Alec was talking now, Avenger fire audible through his comm-link, "But I really think we should get out of here – we still need to tell you about – "

But whatever Mackenzie was going to share was cut off by a fresh barrage from the creeping Cannibals. One of them had taken advantage of the rooftop defender's lull to feast upon a fallen comrade, and its dead hide was quickly covered in the bizarre red armour – even as Spector's final two shots claimed another Reaper.

Then – a roaring blue shape swung into view. The shuttle had arrived, moving into the air above the battleground. Harker wasted no time.

"Shuttle – its Charlie right? Swing around and come up on the right side of the bunker – hold position and we'll jump on board." He stood, firing haphazardly at the encroaching enemies – beside him Luke did the same, now blasting away with his Phalanx handgun, "Teresa, Alec – move now and get up here, we'll cover you!"

The two marines didn't wait to respond, immediately bolting from out of the bunker, heading around the side – bodies low. Somehow the Cannibals missed them – most likely hindered by the N7's covering fire.

"In position Cap'n," drawled the pilot in that way that only an Earthborn Texan could, as the Kodiak craft hovered just beside the roof, "You guys – and gal – wanna get a move on, more of them bastards on the move. An' by the way Cap – call me Chuck."

Nathan would have responded more amicably, had his eye not been drawn to yet _another_ Cannical squad – this one racing to support its fellows.

Behind him, Teresa had reached the roof, and dashed for the shuttle, leaping in even as the Reapers peppered the roof and craft with blazing red shots.

Harker elbowed Spector to get moving, and then yanked him towards the shuttle by his armoured collar as the sniper tried to hold his stance.

Luke fired all the way as he clambered up and into the shuttle. Mackenzie was moving up now, firing his Avenger with an accuracy that Harker had only seen hinted at during their escape from Earth. He felt a sudden swell of pride invade his adrenaline soaked system. He'd made the _right_ choice bringing Alec down here – the rookie kept his promise, and not let him down for a second.

"Go Captain!" the Private moved closer, and thumped his shoulder, "I'm right behind you – go!"

With shots rattling all around them, Harker fired off two of his own – hitting a Cannibal in the arm – and the lunged for the shuttle. Even as he reached it, Grant and Spector grasped him, pulling him in fully. Inside he wheeled around, grabbing a safety rail, and reaching out his other hand for Mackenzie.

Alec rushed for the shuttle's doors, and leapt, hand outstretched. They'd done it, they were away –

A single shot passed clean through Alec Mackenzie's head, and his body dropped out of sight.


	9. Chapter 9: Illium1-1

Chapter Nine: [Illium]

"Hello Harry."

"What gave me away?"

"The eye, mostly. You do know that it's visible in the dark right? That and the fact that you never were a good sneak."

Harry Quinn smiled ruefully from his spot in the shadows, meeting the haughty gaze of Listara T'Naisis. He couldn't really fault her here; after all, this was her apartment he'd broken into.

Listara sighed, perhaps a little louder than she would have done usually, and flicked the apartment's lights on at the lowest setting.

Quinn blinked – one eyed – in the sudden light, but remained where he sat, sprawled over her sofa with a perfectly calculated – Listara knew – pretence of ease.

"Want a drink?" She glanced over at him again, as she moved for the fridge.

"Sure, still love your Serrice Whiskies?"

"You know damn well I still do – you'll have searched every inch of this place the second you got inside." She extracted a bottle of Serrice spirits, pouring two fingers each of the ruddy liquid into a pair of glasses before fixing the human with a fresh glare, "Exactly how long _have_ you been here?"

"Only an hour." Quinn replied, watching her intently. He made no pretences, eyes roving over her body, tracking every curve and every movement. Then again, it wasn't as if she wasn't doing the same.

"I called at the local cop-shop earlier. Figured I'd find you plying the same trade. They said you quit." An eyebrow hitched up, asking a silent question. She'd missed that – not that she'd admit it.

The former Illium detective made her way over to the sofa that Quinn had commandeered. She sat, pale blue skin catching the meagre light as she settled herself an arm's length from him – which she quickly filled as she passed him his drink, taking a measured sip of her own.

She absorbed the fiery flavour, simultaneously saving the drink and teasing Quinn with her silence.

"It's true, I have," she paused again, watching him over the rim of her glass, "Ship out in a week."

"Off to fight the good fight?" he quipped, taking his own drink quickly – nearly half gone – Harry had never been able to savour things. "Asari Command came a'knocking did they?"

She laughed mirthlessly, settling back into the sofa and drawing her legs in. "They didn't need to, no propaganda for me – I saw Earth. When the galaxy is under siege by sentient starships, homicide and Red Sand smuggling starts to seem like less of a pressing problem."

He nodded slowly, and it was probably that which prompted her next remark.

"I'm sorry about Earth, Harry."

"Thank, Lis."

She hadn't seen him this forlorn for a long time – well, hell, she hadn't seen him full stop for long time, but that wasn't the point. His swagger had faded quickly. His eyes were now focused listlessly on the bottom of his glass. He _looked_ wrecked too – hair unkempt, his good eye puffy and tired. Thick stubble peppered his chin, and even his suit was blunted.

"So why _are_ you here Harry? Not for whisky and was-talk, I think."

"I..." he began, with the slightest glint of mischief rippling through his eye for an instant, "You could say I was evicted. Omega went down."

"No shit? Reapers got there too?"

"No, Cerberus." He glowered.

"Ah. No loyalty from them then." Now it was her turn to arch a thin Asari brow.

"Those were the days eh?" He was practically spitting with bitterness.

"When you were a treacherous, morally questionable, conniving smuggler-slash-information broke? When I was your crooked cop gal Friday? Sure, those were the days." She flicked his temple softly with a pair of blue fingers, "But don't beat yourself up too bad. I remember a few good times. Most of them involving a singular lack of clothes."

"I missed you." He grinned – not a little wolfishly.

"I bet you did." She rolled her eye, "And you stayed comfy on Omega, living out of Aria T'Loak's pocket. Till mean old Cerberus ruined it all. Then the Reapers joined in, so you figured you'd run along and hide out with your ex-girlfriend."

"That's not fair."

"Not entirely, no. Did you bring Ford?"

"Of course. He's seeing about getting us rooms. For now."

There was a surprise. If he hadn't been planning on mooching a space off her, Listara had expected him to be ready to cut and run. But then not even she had ever been able to predict Harry Quinn's movements.

"You're staying then?"

"Figured we might. Illium is just about as safe as you can get – for now. The Reapers haven't hit it yet, and Cerberus isn't likely to be able to come after me in force here. Then again, that's what I thought about Noveria."

"Hmm. Maris?"

"Sold me out, yes."

"You're shitting me," she snorted, then took a final swig of whiskey, remembering the sly Salarian who'd she known once. Who'd saved their lives once. "To Cerberus? But they – "

"Hate Aliens, sure. But Maris always hated being dead more. Pity I had to disappoint him."

A pause. She set her glass down at the same moment as Quinn, and their hands brushed for an instant. The brief static charge came with a plethora of shared memories – good and bad in equal measure.

"So that's it: you killed Maris and now you're come for me!" She sniggered darkly.

"I'm here because I'm scared, Lis."

She opened her mouth, and abruptly closed it again; totally and completely at a loss for what to say.

"Cerberus are going to hunt me down and kill me and crack open my skull – not sure what order those last two will be in. And that's if I don't get fried by a big blue space Kraken." He spoke softly, tremulously – not a hint of humour in his last jocular words.

Goddess, but she'd never expected this from him. And she was damned, but it was suddenly pushing up all those old feelings – and all those buried inherent protective instincts that's she must've inherited from her Turian mother.

"Harry." She murmured, seeing the fear in his eye, the need for protection scrambling to break out of the shell of the arrogant trickster.

Her hand went to his cheek, and she –

_**Crack.**_

For the second time in as many weeks, Quinn found his meetings interrupted by gunfire.

But this time was so much worse than Noveria.

Blood, rich purple-blue blood spilled from Listara's lips as the same substance blossomed over her belly, staining through the tight leather uniform.

Quinn must have moved with uncanny speed, as another shot missed him by inches. But it felt like an age to him.

Somehow, by some nightmarish twist of fate, a lanky figure in black and white and gold stood before the wide glass window of Listara's apartment. The bulky pistol that had killed her was still raised and aimed at him, and four red slits met his mismatched eyes with a malice that could possibly be communicated, but which still cut through his blunted senses.

The Cerberus assassin fired again.

He could not dodge, but somehow the barrier held.

He was stood still, paralysed. He heard the killer's sythethised snort of annoyance. He braced himself: knowing that this time he would not survive, and as he did, he heard Listara's gasp of pain, saw the desperate swipe of her arm.

The fading biotics did little – but it was enough. The assassin's arm was knocked to one side, the final shot going wide. Another – almost robotic – screech of frustration, and the thing drew a shimmering blade from a sheathed and lunged.

Quinn's biotic push hit his attacker square in the chest, with all the force of weeks of trial and pain and worry. The would-be killer spiralled away, and this time the sound it made was one of terror as it hit the glass window and kept on going. The white figure span into the Illium night sky and dropped one hundred floors to a sickening death.

Listara choked as she tied to push herself up.

"Fuck you... Quinn. Knew... you'd get me killed... second I saw... that fucking eye of yours." She grinned weakly through blood-stained teeth, and drew a ragged breath.

He dropped to his knees, pulling her close to him.

"I am so sorry Lis, I never –"

"Shut up a minute Quinn... are you... you crying?"

"No. Shut up." He sniffed, "Fuck's sake Lis, can't you even die without taking the piss?"

"Oh I'm not going to... die... now. Got to... live... long enough to laugh... 'bout this with... Ford. Heh... you big girl's blouse... "

He held her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck, croaking.

"I could deal with that. I could definitely deal with that. Just don't die Lis, I need you."

"To s-save your... sorry ass... "She whispered, eyes flickering open and closed.

He was still holding her when Ford forced the door open.

**A/B: Many apologies, for the last few days my internet connection has been on the fritz, and my computer has been rather poorly as a whole as well. This is why I have not been updating - nor have I been able to do much typing up on of chapters. In addition, I am going to be away from Thursday to Saturday evening - sorry about that. I'll try to get a few more chapters up before then. **

**NLReal - I'm sorry that you're a little disappointed so far, hopefully things will improve in your eyes soon, and you'll find a little more enjoyment. Thanks for feeding back to me anyway, a review is a**** review.****  
**


	10. Chapter 10: SSV Drake, Magnusson's files

**A/N:**** The next two chapters are very text-dense, and honestly I'm not 100% keen on them – hopefully you can bear them.**

Chapter Ten: [Operation Traffic. Post-mission report.]

-Operation Traffic – Official Post Assignment report-

Filed by Captain Kurt Magnusson, Commanding Officer on board N7-Class SSV Drake.

For the consideration of Admiral Steven Hackett.

Mission brief: [See pre-Mission report, filed by Captain Magnusson.]

Post-Mission Classification: Mission Successful.

Operatives Involved:

Captain Nathan H. Harker, N7.

First Lieutenant Lucian S. Spector, N7.

Lieutenant Teresa E. Grant, N6 [Additional Service Record Unavailable]

Private Alec P. Mackenzie [KIA]

Mission Overview:

Initial combat drop successful.

Asset acquisition successful.

Flight Serviceman Charles J. Fissinger disobeys protocol to remain in area.

Operatives Harker and Spector defend area; facilitate escape for Operatives Grant and Mackenzie.

Serviceman Fissinger on-hand to mount quick extraction.

Private Mackenzie killed by enemy fire during extraction. Body unrecovered. Death confirmed by eyewitnesses.

-End of official report-

CO's notes: All Operatives performed outstandingly. As we discussed, each should make a valuable addition to the proposed "N7" taskforce. You did me the honour of suggesting the Drake as a potential service vessel, and I believe the current contingent of crewmembers to be perfect for your plans. It is with the utmost regret, however, that I must confirm the death of Private Alec Peter Mackenzie. According to Operatives Harker and Spector, Mackenzie more than proved himself, and fought to the last.

Captain Harker – who I maintain would be better suited to command the Drake in its new capacity – has recommended Private Mackenzie for a posthumous medal of valour. I am inclined to agree – although I know that the current climate leaves little time for formal ceremony.

Kurt Magnusson, Captain.

-End of Co's notes-

Additional notes on the Deceased: Mackenzie's family identified, however, Intel suggests that they were almost entirely on Earth at the time of the Reaper invasion.

_-Two Exceptions:_ Cousin (female): Evelyn Briers – medic, last stationed on the Citadel.

Brother: Leon Mackenzie –reportedly in service with Cerberus Terrorist Cell.

-End of additional notations-

Personal Evaluations:

_Notation:_ The following are based on personal opinion. They are brief, and deal little with the concerned's activities prior to my meeting them. Frankly Admiral, I still believe that these should have been filed in a more formal capacity.

-Updated as of Operation Traffic-

Captain Nathan Henry Harker:

N7, Actives Alliance: Captain Harker's prestigious and extensive military record speaks for itself in matters of evaluation. Personally, I have found him to be a leader of marked ingenuity, compassion and skill. In his field work, he has few peers, conducting himself with the kind of extremities of dedication and courage that elude even the best of the best. I have had the honour of working alongside Harker in the past, and am glad to be doing so again. Both in and out of combat situations, the Captain displays a genuine loyalty and care towards those serving under his command. He is one of that breed of Commanders that promotes the utmost synergy amongst his followers – favouring a less formal, more familial approach to his inter-unit relationships. While this is not a leadership approach that I would take myself, I am able to recognise its value and effect. In fact, I believe that it is this nature that marks the Captain out as an ideal leader for the new multi-systems "N7" program, especially considering the number of non-humans we are predicted to be taking on. The Captain is a particularly formidable graduate of the original N7 program, but it is those natural leadership qualities, and his strength of character that truly set him above his fellows.

_Note:_ Despite our equal ranking, it has been decided that I will retain overall Command of the SSV Drake, whilst Captain Harker will have the initiative during combat assignments.

First Lieutenant Lucian Scott Spector:

N7, Active Alliance, High-level infiltration specialist: Lieutenant Lucian – or Luke as he demands to be known as – is a crack shot, a skilled and inventive soldier, and a brave young man. He is also arrogant, insolent, reckless, and highly irritating. His mouth is both too large and too fast for his own good. That said, I must reiterate my initial points, however begrudgingly. I have little love for Spector, but he is an asset to the Drake's ground forces, and his existing relationships with Operatives Harker and Grant meant that the three of them function as a cohesive and effective unit. In addition, Captain Harker's presence is invaluable in controlling Spector's eccentricities – and I believe that Spector may serve as a similarly beneficial comfort to Harker. Certainly, the two are able to work together with a unity rarely seen outside of sibling relationships. Spector I will tolerate, due to the undeniable value he adds to the team. I still don't like him.

_Note:_ Spector's incessant wise-cracking most likely serves as some form of defence mechanism. This may be something to bear in mind as the war progresses. Certainly, Luke seems uncommonly well-spirited. On the other hand, his good nature has a generally positive effect on the Drake's crew.

Lieutenant Teresa Emily Grant:

Active Alliance, Technical specialist: Lieutenant Grant is a highly intelligent junior officer, with high-level combat ability and truly outstanding tech abilities. Beyond this, she is an engaging and perceptive crew member, though she seems undergo subtle mood shifts – in the brief time that she has served under my command, I have observed her to often withdraw into a more inwardly contemplative mood. I would posit that this is linked to some preoccupation that she is reluctant to share with her peers. Grant is perfectly personable, and possesses a sharp wit, but she has so far restricted her inter-crew relations to Operatives Harker and Spector. This makes sense, as the three of them have served and worked together frequently in the past. My main question regarding Grant is why she has not received a formal N7 ranking. She has an excellent tactical mind, and shows a blend of loyalty and initiative that more soldiers should seek to emulate. Most interestingly of all, in collating information for Grant's evaluation, I have noted that swathes of her Alliance service record is classified beyond my security clearing. For the purposes of further coordinating the soldiers under my command, I am submitting the formal request that I be granted access to an uncensored version of Grant's file. The lieutenant expertly retrieved the required information during the recently completed Operation Traffic (though I am not entirely convinced that the collected data was as urgently needed as was suggested). Following her conduct, I am hereby submitting my recommendation that Grant be immediately elevated to N7 ranking. If I am honest, it is a promotion longer overdue, and having a third active N7 on board would be ideal once we begin to take on new recruits – the rank carries weight beyond the Alliance, and supplies the holders with ideal expertise.

_Notes:_ The relationship between Operatives Spector and Grant seems strained. It may merit internal investigation and meddling.

What on Earth has Grant been up to? Her filled are **filled** with black tape.

-End of personal evaluations-

Closing notes: The three current members of the Multi-Species N7 program are certainly up to the task. Each is an exceptional soldier in their own right, and together form a formidable team. Since you expressed a desire that the initiative be lead by N7 operatives, I believe we have been fortunate.

The loss of Private Mackenzie has been a bitter blow to us all. The Captain is privately blaming himself, I know. A man of his character finds it hard to lose those under his command. I have instructed Spector – who is grieving in his own dysfunctional manner – to do what he can to reassure the Harker. Grant, meanwhile, seems subdued – understandable as she had worked closely with Mackenzie during Operation Traffic. I remain confident that each will find the strength to cope, and will use the Private's fall as yet another reason to keep up with the struggle ahead.

Please find this report to your satisfaction Admiral.

Kurt Magnusson.

Captain, N7.

-Close Report-

**A/N 2 (electric boogaloo): ****I wanted to have some kind of information based chapter, and I really hope that this wasn't too dull. Hopefully it contains some decently interesting information on this lot of characters. The formatting didn't come out as well as it looked in word - one real issue I have with FF. I'm going to try to get another chapter up tonight, but don't hold your breath. If you don't seen Chapter 11 soon, then I'm sorry, I'll try to get it out for Saturday evening when I'm back.**

**NLReal - We're getting the quite the correspondence going, aren't we! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and I might even swing back around to Harry and Ford a little earlier than I was originally planning. Sorry to hear you're suffering from the dreaded block, I sure do know that feeling...  
**


	11. Chapter 11: SSV Drake, Shipbound2-1

Chapter Eleven: [SSV Drake, Officer's Quarters]

Teresa Grant observed the myriad pieces of her disassembled Paladin pistol with little enthusiasm. She'd long since mastered every inch of her trusty handgun, and its inner workings were no mystery to her. As a little girl, she'd enjoyed taking things apart to see how they worked. Now though, she knew exactly how the complications of her youth operated. Now she took things apart when she was stressed, miserable, or otherwise disheartened.

It reminded her that there were still things in her life that were reliable. Teresa liked – needed – reliable thing. She could rely on the Paladin's internal mechanism to be the same each time she tore it open. She could rely on Nate to be a leader she could trust, and a friend she could rely on. She could rely on Luke... to be Luke. It comforted her to know she could trust them, even if she couldn't trust herself.

Her mind wandered to the asset she'd retrieved on Luna. That article was anything but reliable.

Don't think about the moon, a small voice in the back of her head begged. Think about something else, think about...

Her eyes snapped across her desk, settling on the small personal computer, and the open message there.

The big promotion, the one she'd waited for so long. The one she'd thought she'd missed. N7.

The rank held none of the excitement that it should have done. It felt hollow, felt contrived. In truth, that ship had sailed, and she'd let it.

The computer beeped, a green light flashing, and she tapped at it idly.

"_Magnusson wants everyone in the war room. Probably wants to know who's nicked his diary. – Luke" _

With a murmured "Idiot", she turned her fingers to the Paladin, deftly and swiftly reassembling it. Then she pushed her chair back, and stood, stretching. Taking a moment to pull her heavy Alliance issue boots on, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear – knowing it wouldn't stick – then headed for the door.

* * *

Luke quirked an apprehensive eyebrow at Teresa as she entered, from his perch on the war room's central handrail. She couldn't help but afford him a slight twitch of the lips. Nathan's smile of greeting was similarly subdued, and again she noticed the drawn look he had since Mackenzie's death. As Magnusson shot her a nod and cleared his throat, she sidled over to Harker, giving him a reassuring squeeze on the elbow. He looked as bad as she was feeling – though for markedly different reasons, she thought guiltily.

She glanced around the room. It seemed as though the entirety of the Drake's skeleton crew had assembled themselves. Many of them she knew only by their faces – she'd spent little time socialising beyond Luke and Nate in the two weeks since Earth. However, she recognised Chuck Fissinger – who shot her a sympathetic smile – as well as most of the engineering team. Stanley Renton, the curly haired Specialist – who she'd met in person after Luna – and Grace Edison, the Drake's formidable – and characteristically caffeinated – pilot, who mouthed a quick greeting.

As the crew settled down, Captain Magnusson cleared his throat noisily, and motioned to Renton, who tapped at a datapad. In an instant, the ship's Quantum Entanglement Communicator array flickered into life, and an immediately familiar figure materialised in hazy, flickering blue.

Admiral Steven Hackett did his best to quell the instant, hushed murmurs with a weary "At ease please people." However, he hadn't been quick enough to pre-empt a proud whoop form Chuck, and Luke's subsequent cackle.

"Fissinger! Spector! Shut. Up." Magnusson glared at the two offenders, who had the grace to look at least apologetic – though that was most likely to Hackett's somewhat pained expression.

"Apologise Admiral, you have our _total _attention." The Captain murmured, still glaring daggers at Chuck and Luke.

"Thank you, Captain," Hackett replied quickly, continuing before he could be interrupted – however well-meaningly – again. Even in holographic for, the Admiral had a powerful presence, and commanded the joint respect and attention of all those in the room, as he began to speak.

"Men and women of the SSV Drake, I want to start by saying how glad I am that the lot of you have pulled through so far. I know for some of you, the Drake is not your usual posting, but I cannot stress the importance of this vessel enough – so you did the Alliance a damn big favour by mucking through and getting off world." He paused for a moment, his eyes roving back and forth. Due to the size and positioning of the QEC, Teresa doubted that the Admiral could see them all, but he certainly made it seem as though he could.

"We've all been hit hard, I know, and I'm not going to lie to you: things are going to get worse before they get better. We're all bruised – but none of us are broken, and we're all itching for a fight. In the past days, I've had to say again and again that that we aren't going to beat the Reapers conventionally. But the Drake's new posting is going to be anything but conventional. We're going to putting you to task on an idea that Captain Magnusson and I have been throwing around for a while now: an 'N7' designated taskforce that can go anywhere, anytime, anyhow, and hit the Reapers where it hurts the most."

The Drake's crew-members turned to each other, whispering and raising eyebrows.

"The Drake can move quickly and silently, and it can hit high priority targets with substantial force – moving around where it's needed while the main fleets strike our enemies where we can, and hold them where we can't. And there's another angle to this – the fact that if we're going to win this war, the galaxy is going to have to work as one. It's true enough, our allies are still being slow to come around, but we're already getting messages and reports of non-humans who've seen that the Alliance is on the frontlines, and that we need their help."

More –now excited – mumblings and quizzical looks raced around the room as Hackett paused once more. Teresa couldn't be sure, but she thought she caught the slightest of winks passing – quick as a flash – between the Admiral and Magnusson.

"This is going to be a multi-species initiative; it's going to lead the way in uniting the people of this galaxy into a force to be reckoned with, and you're going to be the ones making that happen."

He broke off just as a chorus of raucous, determined cheers broke out. A genuine smile passed across his face, and then he turned his eyes directly to where Teresa and Nathan stood.

"Captain Harker, Grant, Spector – step forwards." Magnusson barked. The three of them did as they were bid, Luke swinging off his seat in time to join his friends before Hackett's shining blue form.

"You three are the true N7s – congratulations, by the way, Grant, well earned – while this project is really just borrowing the name. So it's you I want in charge, leading this unit from the front, and getting whoever drifts in into shape. Each of you has proved yourself countless times before, and its soldiers like you we need at the tip of this spear." He smiled proudly, "I have the utmost confidence in each of you. Can I count you on-board?"

Harker took just a moment, glancing from Luke to Teresa.

"That's a yes, Sir."

**A/N:**** Sorry for the delay, it's been a rough couple of days. On the bright side, I've been able to map out quite a bit more of the two narrative arcs, and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, and those to come (those of you actually reading, that is).**


	12. Chapter 12: Citadel, Embassies

Chapter Twelve: [The Citadel – Embassies]

"This is like Cereal."

"What?"

"Come on, surely Spacers eat cereal too. Like when you were a kid and you'd have your cereal, and there'd be a mystery gift inside."

"And this is like that how?"

"Because we just don't know what we're going to get. Krogan? Salarian? Turian? Who's going to join our merry band? It's truly a mystery."

Nathan Harker turned away from Luke Spector and let his head fall, connecting with the wall of the elevator with a soft _'thunk'_.

"How I've put up with you and this for eight years is the real mystery." He groaned, as the doors slid open. He made to pass into the main Embassy foyer, but something held him back.

"Hey." Luke mumbled, releasing his hold on Nathan's arm. "I'm serious now, okay. I... " His face took on a pained expression as he searched for words. Nathan's earlier frustration dissipated instantly, and he tried to pre-empt his friend's misery.

"And I'm too serious – Luke _I'm_ sorry, I didn't mean that, I'm just..."

"On edge, I know." Spector spoke quickly, but with none of his usual bravado, "Because of this war, and because of Alec, and because of your... because of Jen... I, well, look: I know that you're hurting right now. And I haven't helped – I've been doing my usual shit. I'm sorry, I made a mistake. I should have been – no – I should _be _watching your back. But me and you, we'll get through this war, we'll get this N7 thing going and we'll cause some havoc, just like we always do." A smile spread across his face as he spoke, and a little of his customary energy returned, even starting to creep into Nathan's own beleaguered system. "It's always an honour, Captain."

Nathan nodded mutely, thankfully. He clasped a hand on Luke's shoulder, and the younger N7 responded with a grin that was much closer to his usual fare.

"Okay then – male bonding out of the way. Let's go do this," he sniggered as Nate rolled his eyes, "But, seriously, I'll try and shape it up. Anytime you need to talk."

"Yeah, I know." Nate nodded again, "Come on Luke, people are going to start talking. But thanks, all the same."

They moved off, side by side, into the ground floor of the Embassy atrium. The Embassies were much the same as anywhere on the Citadel presidium: shining white surfaces, abstract and passive decorations, the bright – yet artificial – shine of the station's simulated clear blue skies. However, with the advent Humanity's expanded role in Citadel politics the place had become adorned with several examples of flora and fauna native to Earth, and Alliance Military advertisements and propaganda flickered and blared all around.

Despite this, the area was still hosting a vast number of non-human council races. Asari, Volus and a even a few Elcor made up the main alien congregation, and Harker also caught sight of a tearful human woman embracing an armoured Turian. He was no expert on Turian expression – especially at this distance – but he was sure there was something decidedly miserable in the way that the soldier's mandibles drooped.

They moved further through the crowds towards a waiting area of sorts, where a pair of harassed looking C-sec officers stood in half-hearted guard, pistols at their hips.

Beyond them, Harker spied a truly motley crew that _had_ to be their new recruits.

A tall, slim, and generally magnificent Asari stood rigidly off to one side. She wore an ornate armour set of white plate, with a small matching head piece and a look of haughty distain. To her right, lounging variously on a set of benches, were two humans and a Turian – who looked a lot more animated than the one Harker had noticed earlier. This one had a similar build, tall and lean, but broad shouldered under a set of heavy armour. However, this Turian's face plates were a deep, dark shade of brown – almost black – and his clan paints stood out in vibrant purple. There was an amused gleam in his beady eyes, and he let out a deep laugh – rippled with sub-harmonics – as his a female human companion said something evidently _hilarious_. She was sharp eyed and red haired, with thin, hawkish features but a broad and laughing mouth. Dressed in C-sec fatigues, she sat back lazily, legs propped up on the benches in front as she acted out some story for her two companions. On the Turian's other side sat the second human – a male with close-cropped black hair, and the pale skin of a spacer. As he turned his head to watch the woman's playacting, Nathan noticed the tell-tale lump of a biotic's implant. Sure enough, the man had the sturdy, athletic build that many biotic's cultivated – the extra evidence of wiry muscle about his forearms suggested a tendency to the "vanguard" school of combat.

That left the Krogan. Stood at the other end of the waiting area, and clad in a set of formidable armour that just screamed _"Battlemaster"_. The huge alien rested quietly, heavy lids half shut. Below his large, dark blue crest, burned a pair of bright and canny amber eyes. Canny, seemed to be the operative word, as he was the first to take note of the N7's approach. The C-sec guards shot them relieved looks and retreated hastily to one side, as the Krogan lifted himself forwards, and moved ponderously towards Nathan and Luke.

Watching him approach, Harker was struck by the immense slope of the alien's hump – a feature he knew signified a consummate and impressive martial prowess. At the same time, he could not help notice that the Krogan's rolling gait bore an uncanny resemblance to one _John Wayne_.

The reptilian alien reached them just as the other four registered their arrival, but Nathan barely noticed them. He was suddenly very aware of two things: first, that the Krogan was _looming_ over him, and secondly, that there was a definite sense of slow appraisal in the giant's stare. He felt, rather than saw, Spector tensing beside him; ready for trouble.

An awkward few seconds passed, with everyone's eyes on the Krogan, before he seemed to reach a conclusion.

"Raik Kraggorn. Battlemaster. Call me Krag." He spoke with a voice like a rolling boulder, his words seeming to carry much more care and deliberation that those of his fellows that Nathan had met in the past. Granted, those Krogan had typically been shooting at him. It was a moment before he realised that Kraggorn was holding out a hand. Playing for lost time, Harker threw caution to the wind and clasped the warrior's hand with the firmest grip he had ever mustered.

The result was that he felt as though his hand was being used as a crowbar in some futile attempt to lever one Thanix cannon off another. Kraggorn let out a predatory grin, though his eyes twinkled with a more good-natured spark.

"Nathan Harker. Captain. Call me Nate." He un-gritted his teeth for a moment, maintaining steady eye contact with the Battlemaster as they broke apart.

Kraggorn made a rumbling sound, then moved past him, heading for Luke – who Nathan suddenly felt very sorry for.

The absence of several tons of Krogan gave the Turian his chance to introduce himself, which he duly did.

"Tarik Lorquin, good to meet you Captain," he offered, along with a traditional Turian greeting, which involved clasping Nathan's forearm with a deal more warmth than Kraggorn's shake. "Ex-Turian military, and I've been with C-sec's armed response taskforce for the last three years – along with Astrid here," he indicated the red-headed woman, who had appeared at his shoulder, "Astrid Monroe here, same division – ranged specialist, and -"

He was cut off as Monroe tugged at one of his waving mandibles, and piped up herself, "He's all right so far Cap'n, but I still like to speak for myself. Besides, if I don't stop him now Tarik will talk you through our entire combined service records. I'm thinking of sticking with: _Hello_."

Nathan grinned at the C-sec pair, returning the sarcastic salute that Astrid threw him in lieu of a shake.

"Good to have you onboard, Tarik, Astrid. This is –"He began, but found Luke – who had evidently his meeting with Kraggorn – at his elbow.

"Another Sniper eh?" he engaged Monroe immediately, "Luke Spector – currently _the_ best shot on the Drake."

"Hope you like competition then Spector," was Astrid's response, accompanied by a rapidly rising pair of eyebrows.

Tarik let out a chuckle, and turned to Harker.

"Captain, I-"

"Nathan."

"Ah, right, Nathan then. I was told our equipment went ahead to your ship?"

"That's right, it'll be there once we're back, and our Yeoman should have had it all organised into your assigned quarters."

"I'm glad – just wanted to check that. And let me just say Captain, I'm looking forwards to-"Tarik's display of courtesy was – Nathan knew – par for the course when the avian aliens interacted with superior officer. That made it all the more jarring when he once again interrupted, as the Asari made here presence known.

"Captain Harker." The acknowledgement came as a brusque statement, his rank with a clipped disinterest, "I am Mallista Neeros, Justicar. I understand that you are _not_ actually the SSV Drake's Commanding Officer?"

Nathan blinked, slowly retracting the handshake he'd been half-way through offering. Some Asari could be aloof – he knew that – but rarely so overtly dismissive.

"That's... right. I'm heading up away missions. But Captain Magnusson has command on the Drake."

"Then I shall need to see him immediately." Neeros' eyes flickered over the assembled soldiers, and it was a clear from that look that she was not pleased with the company she found herself in.

Tarik snorted beside him, mandibles flaring for a moment, and Nathan felt a rush of gratitude towards the Turian – good to know that he wasn't the only one affronted by the Justicar's manners.

"Look, Mallista," Nathan spoke quietly, turning his body to the side and attempting to move her with him. If Luke got wind of what was going on there'd be no stopping him. As amusing as whatever verbal assault the sniper would have mustered against her, he didn't have the strength right now to manage _both_ of them, "Of course you'll be able to speak with the – other – Captain once we're on board. For now though we just need to check everyone in. And I'd appreciate it if you gave me a chance here. It's good to have you on the team."

He offered a hand again – but once again it was ignored. Mallista bristled.

"I very much hope, _Captain_, that you will not delay much longer. So far, my time in this initiative has been singularly underwhelming. My considerable skills would be valued just as highly elsewhere, and I hope that both you and your superiors will realise that in due time."

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked off to the other end of the lobby, waiting by the elevator. Nathan stood, a little stunned, and Tarik made a soft growling noise.

"She's been pretty much like that the entire time. Obviously wasn't expecting the calibre of company that she got. That and she's got delusions of grandeur there size of the Citadel." A quiet voice issued from Nathan's other side, and he turned to see the dark haired biotic – the last of the new recruits – watching the Asari Justicar with a wry grin. "I met another Justicar once before. Not quite as grumpy – more irritatingly serene."

The frustration that had sparked up dissipated as he turned to ther other human, who met his eyes somewhat shyly.

"This is Alestar Brooks, Captain. Vanguard biotic, used to –" Tarik chimed in again – apparently Turians really did find it hard to shake the military formalities.

"I'm sure Brooks can give me the details himself – Monroe managed." Nathan chuckled, gratified to find Brooks actually accepting the proffered handshake.

"I think Tarik was going to finish with: 'used to be an Alliance Corsair'. It's about the only interesting thing on my file – which you'll probably have read, so you won't need to hear it all now. That and the fact that I tend to stay quiet for long periods of time before very suddenly talking way too much – which I'm doing right now."

"Breathe out Alestar." Nathan laughed again, calming the nervous biotic with a placatory pat on the arm. "But no, I haven't read your files. Any of yours. I prefer people to make a clean first impression."

"Well the," Alestar replied with the faintest hint of a wink, "I hope I've made a good first impression."

Harker merely inclined his head with a smile, and then turned to where Luke seemed to bickering good-naturedly with Astrid Monroe.

"Come on Lt, break it up. I want to get this lot back to the Drake before Kraggorn makes those two wet themselves." he nodded at the of C-sec guards, who were still eyeing the hulking Krogan warily.

Luke grinned as he moved over to join Harker, Monroe following him. They moved back in the direction of the elevators, gradually picking up the rest of their new team-mates.

As they walked, groups of civilians turned to watch them, muttering and pointing. The forlorn Turian from earlier snapped into a determined salute as he caught Harker's eye. A green suited Volus slapped his gloved hands together in a nervous smattering of applause.

And then the room was filled with clapping: humans, Volus, Asari – an Elcor inclined its weighty head – were all clapping, even cheering.

Each of the new "N7"s felt a glow of pride, slowly permeating the tension that had become their norm of late. Even Mallista Neeros had a subtle prickle in her blue cheeks.

As they entered the lift, Spector turned to Nathan.

"Good cereal." He said simply.

**A/N:**** Sorry this took so long to get up, I haven't had much time to type or upload over Christmas. Hope you enjoy, and_ if you do_ why not drop a review. It's great to see that the chapters are getting views on each upload, but I do value the opinions of everyone who reads and it's always good for writers to have something to read in between chapters.**


	13. Chapter 13: Citadel, Purgatory Bar

Chapter Thirteen: [Citadel - Purgatory Bar]

She made her way through the pulsing lights, the pounding sound, the press of bodies, to take a seat beside him at the bar.

"Very well done, Emily."

"That's not my goddamn name."

"Ah, how could I forget? You hate Teresa marginally less, don't you."

Teresa Grant waved at the bar-tender, handing over a credit chit in return for a shot of bright blue. She knocked back the alien drink before turning narrowed eyes on the man beside her.

"I _told_ you: I'm done working for you. I'm only here to finish things face-to-face." She growled.

The man beside met her glower, smiling enigmatically, one hand raising his own drink to thin, pale lips. "And I believe _I told you_ Teresa, you'll be done working for me when I say so. Besides you proved on Luna that you're still open to my humble requests."

Her eyes flickered away, guiltily, her face losing its defiance, taking on a more sullen look. "So do want it or not?"

"The Luna asset? Not at the moment, no. You can hang on for now, I think." He drawled, watching her through narrowed eyes.

"What?" he started up, and then leant forwards, hissing, "You don't want it? You hijack that bullshit mission and have me lie to my friends _again_ and you don't even want it? Do have any idea how dangerous this thing is? What it did on Luna? I thought they'd learnt their lesson the last time!"

"Oh but I do want it. It's a dangerous and important asset and it had no place on that moon. And now I know that it is in safe hands," He leered, stroking that loathsome goatee, "When the time comes for it to change hands once again, I will collect our little acquisition. In a time like this, one must keep one's card hidden. Wait for the right time to show one's hand. So long as you've taken the necessary precautions, wouldn't want it running rampant..."

"Of course I have you _bastard! _I'm not an idiot – not that way at least..." his lips curved into a snarl, as she swung her legs off the stool, ready to leave, "Fine then. I'll keep it safe. And when you come to 'collect' – you can jog on. I'm not helping you in your sick little agendas anymore."

The man's nostrils flared imperceptibly. "I do hope you reconsider. It would be very foolish for you to try to cut your ties with me again. Especially now. After all, you knew what you were getting into when we lifted you from the N7 program all those happy years ago."

"Fuck you, Vayne." She mouthed, words barely audible in the thud of the club music. She turned, stalking away from the bar.

"Send my best wishes to dear Lucian Spector, won't you? Ah, but of course – that would require you to tell him the truth for once, wouldn't it?" The sly voice in her earpiece was shot through with a deep vein of malice. It crept into her head for the _last time_ – she told herself – as she wrenched the device from her ear, twisting the flimsy metal in shaking hands.

**A/N:**** A double upload evening for you, you lucky sods. This one underwent some last minute changes in terms of plot and may have suffered for it, I'm not sure. It's one I particularly like - if I say so myself - and I'm relatively pleased with how it turned out, though I may go back and change a few things later. It is intentionally rather vague, but hopefully it should make more than a little bit of sense. The next chapter will see us jumping back to Harry and Ford's side of the story, to see how they're dealing with the impact of their last instalment. (Actually, one thing for future consideration, would you prefer it if I _didn't_ warn of any narrative jumps, and just let it happen? Does it ruin the surprise, or would that just be too confusing?)**


	14. Chapter 14: Illium2-1

Chapter Fourteen: [Illium]

Harry Quinn awoke, alone and in darkness.

Panic gripped him. Not the usual unease that came from the ingrained paranoia that dogged him. Panic. Sheer bloody panic.

The customary ache of damaged face prickled sharper than usual, as he scrambled in the dark.

Then his sleep-addled hearing adjusted, and his left eye adapted to the gloom, followed sluggishly by the right.

Running water. He could hear running water.

He rolled to his side, and found a shallow imprint beside him. Still warm.

Of course. Thank Christ.

The sound of water splashing stopped abruptly. Minutes that were almost too much to bear passed, and then the shower door slid open, Listara T'Naissis stepped lightly back into her room, and his life.

Alive.

"Hello." He croaked, grinning anxiously.

She affected an insincere eye-roll in response as she moved over, to sit cross-legged at the bottom of the bed. He noticed – with not a little disappointment – that she was already dressed.

"Get a grip Quinn – you _know_ I'm still here. You've known for a week."

"A week and three days."

"Not helping your case here. I'm starting to think you've gone soft."

"Love of a good woman and all that." He grinned wider – still hoping he could reel her back in with a little of the old idiot's charm.

Listara sighed, reached over the edge of the bed to pull on her boots.

"I'm still not going to stay Quinn. I have to ship out. Today."

"Yeah, I figured." He sighed, "Can't blame me for trying."

"Well, yeah, I can." She raised an eyebrow, and then leant towards him, leaving a soft kiss on his cheek, "But I won't. Quinn moved forward, trying to lengthen the kiss, trying to keep her – anything of her – close. Her lips met his for a moment, but she moved away all the same.

She stood, grabbing a heavy pack from the floor, and swinging it onto her back. She stood silently, checking straps – more as an excuse to stay just a little longer, than out of necessity.

"Look, Harry... it was good... no, it was _great_ to see you again. Really, but..."

He chuckled darkly.

"What?"

"Nothing – it's just I'm used to be the one giving _that _speech in the morning."

"That's not what I'm saying."

"I know."

"But look: I have to do this, I have to get out there and fight, and that means we _can't_ carry on. But stay safe okay. I... I owe you one – again – and I'm not having Cerberus clearing my debt."

"Of course," he said, voice calm and professional now. "See you around then Lis. Take care of yourself."

"She pulled an exasperated expression, _Goddess he could be such a child._

"Before I go: there's this... initiative I've heard talk about. The Alliance has some kind of multi-species 'N7' taskforce starting up." Even as she spoke, she knew it was no use, but at least she was trying, "You _need_ something to do, and it could keep out of Cerberus' reach. You should –"

"I don't think so Lis. Sweet of you to think of me, but _you know_ I'd rather take my chances with the Illusive Man's cronies than go back to the Alliance."

A pause. It was over now.

"Alright. I tried. Stay alive Quinn."

"You too Lis."

She closed the door behind her with a soft sigh, and her mind escaped – drifting back in time to fix on the bright eyed (singular) man she'd met so long ago. Though not so long for an Asari perhaps. Fresh out of the Alliance – full of piss and vinegar and resentment and completely, utterly brilliant. The genius, double-dealing, jack-of-all-trades "requisitions expert".

No wonder Cerberus still wanted his brain so badly. She'd always said that grey-box was a bad idea.

Those had been good days. Morally ambiguous days, but something about Harry Quinn had made them golden. In one way or another, they'd all been in love with him. Her, Ford, Maris, Elsa, Demetri and Quaz. Had it changed so much?

A quiet cough broke through her reverie, and she looked up to see Ford Llewellyn standing just a little way in front of her, looking sheepishly from her to the couch he'd been sleeping on.

"Ford." She smiled warmly at him. She'd not had much time to talk to the man from 'Whales' – no, _Wales_ – and she felt a little guilty about that. He'd been the one save her life this time, after all.

"Alright Listara?" he returned the grin, there was something she'd missed, "You off then?" His face took on a slightly pained expression.

"Yes. Yeah I am – I have to. _You_ get that right?"

"Of course I do. Earth's my home – proper home. Born and raised, and I'm itching to fight for it. Only right that you're off to help you folk." He smiled again, sadly, sympathetically. He'd always been the perfect counter to Quinn's archaic irreverence – solid, dependable, and more loyal than any man, woman of Asari she knew.

There was a pause, and she knew that he was thinking about those "valleys and dales" he'd so often raved about in the past. Listara could barely begin to imagine how she would feel if she knew that Thessia was burning.

"Anyway," he began again, "I should let you go eh?"

"Yeah, but... Y'know – look after him Ford. I know you always do, but now..." she bowed her head, half guiltily.

"Now Cerberus are out to tear out his greybox."

"Yeah, that. It's pretty... Well, we don't want that to happen, do we? For anyone's sake."

"No, we don't." He nodded, paused. "You're good for him you are."

She smiled sadly.

"And he's good for me, but – "

"That's alright Lis. I know."

"You always did."

"I always did."

"You still miss her?" she turned cautious eyes to meet his baleful ones.

"Elsa? Suppose I do Bach. Now and then."

"She loved you Ford, so much." She was closer to him now, stretching out a hand to touch his battered knuckles. She remembered their old comrade, that vibrant blonde woman, with joyous eyes and a wicked wit.

Ford pulled her into a powerful hug, his tough arms wrapping about her. She squeezed back, then they broke apart.

"You stay safe now, see."

"I'll do my best you old softie." She grinned.

She moved to the door, lifting the bag she'd packed the night before.

"Oh, Ford?"

"What's up?"

"I told him about the Alliance project. He didn't bite – like you thought. I still reckon you might just be able to get it through his thick skull."

"Reckon I might just." His lopsided grin returned, "Fight well Listara. Go on and kill a Reaper for me, eh?"

They sat across from each other, chewing quickly on the last of the rations that Listara had left. The lights were dimmed, and their effect packed. One more night, and they'd be gone.

"Now, Bach" began Ford, as he washed down the last crumbs of a ration biscuit, "You know and I know what you're thinking of doing next. And it's bloody stupid, see?"

Quinn glared back – he'd been in a foul mood ever since Listara had left. Served him bloody right, jammy git.

"Is it stupid to want to stay ten few steps ahead of Cerberus? They found us here Ford – there's the evidence," he jabbed a spindly finger towards the steel shutter that had covered the apartment window ever since he'd thrown the assassin out of it, "We _have_ to keep moving."

"Where to then?"

"I don't know right now alright? Maybe back into the Terminus systems."

Ford stifled a guffaw, and after a moment, Quinn cracked a weary smile.

"Alright. Yeah. I'm an idiot. But..." his face fell.

"What else can I do? I've got too much up here," he tapped his temple, "for Cerberus to get me."

"Especially now?"

"_Especially now_ – Lis, she had a point, going off to fight. Sure: I don't want Cerberus cutting the grey-box out of my skull – but its not just what I want. If they got what's in my head... The war'd be fucked."

"That's bloody selfless of you Bach – "

"Oh enough of the cynicsm Ford – I can be altruistic if I want to be."

"So let's go lend a proper hand eh? That Alliance program – "

"No – I won't work for the Alliance again, you know that!" he snarled, blue eye flashing, and slapped a palm against the left side of his face – over the eye and taut skin there, "Last time I did, I ended up with this!"

"Don't be such a bloody child!" roared Ford, his own eyes blazing with a sudden spark of fury and frustration.

Harry blinked. Llewellyn had forced back his chair, was standing – and Quinn started as the bigger man slammed a fist against the table between them.

"Enough bloody running Harry! If you're so inspired by Listara – then its high-bleeding-time you grew a pair. High time we got out there a made a fucking difference for the better. God knows I'd follow you into hell, you little shit – and I have and all – but now I'm taking my own bloody impetus!" Ford stood there, fuming; Harry sat, stunned. He'd so rarely seen his friend truly, deeply angry, that he'd practically forgotten how terrifying he could be.

How convincing he could be.

"I suppose..." he began, with the faintest touch of a smile creeping across his face, "That we could do _something_. No galaxy is bad for business, _right_?"


	15. Chapter 15: SSV Drake, Shipbound3-1

Chapter Fifteen: [SSV Drake, Officer's Quarters]

How had they died?

He asked himself that nearly every night now. Because he was past mourning them out of love and loss, and he had to find a new way.

He hadn't been there.

They had died alone and unprotected.

Had it been quick? Bodies destroyed in a fireball, or pulverised by falling debris.

Had they been executed? Shot by monsters with cold cyclopean lenses – searchlights looking for those who might have tried to flee.

Had there been a chase? Screams?

Or perhaps they'd been killed as the Reaper broke apart. Lives sacrificed for the destruction of the enemy. But, no, they hadn't been on the Wards. He'd made sure of that.

In his mind, they were two people. That wasn't right of course. The little girl had not been born. But when he dreamt, he saw her, and her mother. Jennifer. And all the names they'd considered together. Harper, Catherine, Lucia, Triss, Jane. Grief tended to shove rational to one side.

He hadn't been there. Hadn't been able to protect them and –

Nathan Harker awoke, lungs clawing for air in a desperate, gasping cry. He rasped, throat rattling as he tried to suffocate the sob, tried to shrug off the nightmare that he _still_ wasn't used to.

He sat up in bed, eyes wide open, burning. There'd be no sleep now, and the accusatory question hung in the air.

How had they died?

**A/N:**** Yes, this is the shortest chapter in the history of the universe. _Hopefully_, that won't detract from your enjoyment. Now there may be a little while to wait between now and the next update, as I have a fair bit more material that needs typing up. So things might have to be drip-fed for a little while, especially as I have a mountain of work looming on the horizon. But fear not, as the block has not yet claimed me - I have everything up in the old dome, just on on paper, or text...**

**Anyway, please enjoy this latest offering, and _seriously consider_ pressing that tiny wee box just a little way below, and leaving a review for me to ponder/enjoy/hate/nod appreciatively at (delete as appropriate).  
**


	16. Chapter 16: SSV Drake, War Room

Chapter Sixteen: [Assignment: Sanctum]

"Is the turn-around usually this quick?" Tarik Lorquin muttered to Teresa Grant, raising a brow-plate.

"No idea – I've not been on here much longer than you have." She replied simply, then made an 'I want to concentrate on the briefing so please shut up, no offense' nod in Magnusson's direction.

"Fair enough," Tarik sighed. He didn't begrudge the dismissal – he was too experienced a soldier for that. What did trouble him somewhat was the issue he'd just raised. He and the other new recruits had barely touched foot – or talon, in his case – on the Drake before they'd been swept across the galaxy to Sigurd's Cradle. Truth be told, he would have liked some time to acclimatise to the new ship and its crew.

That said, he'd be glad for the opportunity to, well, shoot things. The news that Palaven had been attacked had come soon after he'd signed up for the "Alliance gig" – as Astrid had christened it – too late for him to back out. The pragmatist in him spoke out clearly though: he could accomplish more – solitary Turian as he was – here on the Drake, than there on Palaven.

He abruptly ended his brooding as the ship's captain, Magnusson, began to speak.

"Sanctum: perfectly nondescript planet that just so happens to be home to a little clutch of Cerberus bases. After what happened on Mars..." Tarik noticed Captain Harker's scowl at the mention of the red planet. He'd gathered that it had played host to some betrayal by the rogue Human organisation – no skin off his back, to be honest: the Hierarchy had a particular dislike for the terrorists in Cerberus.

"...they are now fair game. Top Brass wants a solid strike against them, and we are the ones best placed to deliver. Now, there's a central Command Station here," the CO enlarged a particular spot on the holo-display of Sanctum's surface, before tapping at a smaller structure, "but this is the real prize: an encryption facility, that Cerberus has working on code making and code braking 24/7. Ironically – but fortunately for us, they weren't good enough at covering their tracks. So this place gets gutted. You'll go in as a four man team – clear out any resistance, and data-mine their set-up. This is eye for an eye, so anything of value gets ripped: codes, messages, research, plans. Once you're done, flash-wipe their systems and get out in one piece."

There was a slight pause, as though they were all waiting for more. Then Magnusson made a shooing motion, and turned back to the holo-display.

"Hanger in five people." Harker barked, and Tarik couldn't help but admire the Captain's transition from the jovial man he'd met days previously, to a driven commander taking charge.

Tarik moved to exit, Teresa moving beside him. He stopped, however, when he realised that their fourth teammate had remained at the display dais.

"Captain, I understood that this task-force was to be lending aid to the _galactic_ war effort, against the _Reapers_. This assignment seems rather more like human in-fighting to me."

Grant stifled a groan that Lorquin still caught, as the Asari Justicar Mallista Neeros voiced her cutting disapproval.

Magnusson blinked. Hard. It was a reaction that Tarik had seem a few times in past, typically on the faces of Turian Commanders, the 'did you honestly just say that to _ME_?' look.

Thankfully, Harker cut in before Magnusson could follow the look with the inevitable high-velocity verbal barrage. "With all due respect, Mallista – this _is _what you signed up for. Cerberus has shown its hand: they are not my allies, and they are not yours. There's an odds on chance, though, they _are_ the Reaper's. Point is: Command says we're to fight them. So we fight them."

"Still, this assignment hardly seems critical to the needs of the war effort as a whole, I very much doubt that – "

Neeros had advanced on Harker, brows raised mockingly. But Tarik missed the rest of her diatribe as Teresa yanked him away, and towards the War Room's exit.

**A/N:**** Short again but I hope you enjoyed it. Now go ahead and use a biotic blast on that there review button.**


	17. Chapter 17: Sanctum-1

Chapter Seventeen: [Assignment: Sanctum], part 2

"We're coming in hot people – just in case the fighters trying to light our asses on fire didn't give the game away! Get yerselves ready for drop-off." Chuck Fissinger's raucous tones blared out via the cabin intercom – barely audible over the rear of the Kodiak's engines as the pilot took the shuttle through its paces.

The assembled team braced themselves as the shuttle door slid open. A murky landing pad shunted into view as Chuck slammed to a halt.

"Go, go, go!" Captain Harker belted out the old cliché, as his teammates each leapt out, and onto the landing platform. Behind them, the Kodiak burst back into action. Fissinger ratcheted up the speed, blasting away and then performing a vertical 180 degree climb as a quartet of Cerberus missiles screamed after him. The craft span, practically _dancing_ under Chuck's control. Two of the rockets zoomed past – out-manoeuvred – one spiralling off into the ether. He raced away from the hanger, pursued by the remaining rockets _and_ a duo of fighters, the second failed projectile veered off course and arched towards the foursome on the landing pad.

"Heat sensors must be buggered." Murmured Teresa, her eyes bulging and locked on the screeching missile.

"Never mind that!" Tarik Lorquin bellowed, showing her forwards, "MOVE!"

Harker and Neeros needed no more motivation, sprinting across the platform as the explosive ordnance impacted behind them with an awful crash.

A horrendous keening followed, as the landing pad broke away from the outcropping base. The ground cracked apart, structural integrity completely compromised as the four warriors raced away from the blasted edge.

A trio of Cerberus soldiers mounted a fast response, hornet submachine guns emitting a buzz of fire as they hurried into the cargo bay. Without waiting for instructions, Mallista sent a singularity barrelling towards their opponents. The biotic field lifted the troopers into the air, and as they tumbled upwards, she drew a disciple shotgun in one smooth motion, and finished them off with a series of devastating execution shots.

"Nice shooting," Nathan nodded quickly, moving up to join the Justicar. His tone changed though, as she made for the right hand doorway that the Cerberus agents had entered by. "Hey, wait here, we need to – "

Mallista was already on her way, darting forwards, but her biotics bristled at her sides as she span on her heel, glaring at the human Captain.

"Do what you need to Harker. _I_ am going to move ahead with this mission." She furrowed her brows haughtily, the small white headpiece she wore extenuating her displeasure.

Nathan gritted his teeth, hefting his Saber. He'd had just about enough of the Asari's arrogant conviction.

"Look Mallista," he spat her name out – hoping to irritate her with the informality, "You might be a Justicar – used to working alone. But you are in a unit now – an Alliance unit – so you better shape up your act. I don't like pulling tank, but so help me I will have you calling me Captain and jumping when I whistle if you don't cut this shit out right about _now_."

He could practically _hear_ Teresa's smirk, and he could see the _appalled_ expression etching its way across Neeros' too-perfect features.

"Captain has a point Neeros." Tarik piped up, sub-harmonics flanging sternly, "He _does_ have rank here."

The Asari's biotics flared dangerously, as she faced her squadmates, but when she spoke, it was quiet – if icy, "Very well, Captain. What is our plan of action?"

Nathan sighed – not caring if she picked up on it. This was going to be harder than reigning in the N6 shits at Rio. And there was something about the Justicar that made him want to drop professionalism and scream at her.

He turned around, looking over to the raised section of the bay on the left.

"Neeros, get up there and keep an eye on all this," he motioned around at the ruined bay, "Looks like there's a door into the control room, but its most likely locked down. Three of us will head inside this way." He finished by nodding towards the doorway that she had planned to take.

Tarik lead the way past her, and Harker tried to avoid Mallista's _furious_ gaze as he followed.

"I would still be better suited to this route than waiting around out here." She hissed.

He shut his eyes wearily, then opened them; along with his mouth in order to retort.

But Teresa beat him to it, "You Asari have loads of free time: why not embrace some eternity if you get bored?"

Nathan hurried the techie through before Mallista could respond with violence.


	18. Chapter 18: Sanctum-2

Chapter Eighteen: [Assignment: Sanctum], part 3

The three teammates barrelled down a short service corridor and into cover before the Cerberus defenders could react.

There were two of them: positioned by a set of low portable barriers at the other end of the hall. With a shout, the first soldier dropped behind a barrier, sending a burst of hornet fire that forced the squad to remain where they were. A second of the terrorists snatched up a heavy looking shield, and began to advance down the hall.

However, with stunning recall, Teresa waved her omni-tool, and an overload program impacted precisely with the barrier cover. The orange energy shield burst apart with a crackle, and its patron yelped as the overload tech caught him. In an instant, Tarik had leapt up. He braced a bronzed Turian Phaeston in his arms, and rattled off a burst which caught the flailing trooper in the chest. Even as the dead man's comrade sent a clumsy pistol shot in reply, Tarik let off another burst – three rounds which each soared perfectly through the slim opening of the shield and into the agent's skull.

"Holy shit." Mumbled Teresa, as she stared, wide-eyed from behind her crate cover. "That was some shooting."

"I'm a Turian," Tarik crowed, "It's what we do."

They moved on, heading down the corridor towards a forked path; a staircase placed straight ahead, and a wider, lab-like area on the right.

"You know what I'm going to have to say – dontcha?" Teresa groaned, peering cautiously into the lab.

"That this is far too easy? Yeah, we have that saying too." Tarik pulled his brow-plate into a frown, rapping his talons against the Phaeston uneasily. "What's our play Captain?"

"Tarik, get in that lab and pull it apart, if you find anything, pocket it and link back with us." Harker flicked a thumb in to the right, giving orders in a clipped tone.

"Well this armour model doesn't actually come with pockets, but I get the idea. What about the two of you?"

Teresa was already moving up the sloped staircase, and Nathan wrinkled his nose in half-hearted irritation, "We'll be going _that_ way then. Terry can tear through their systems from the control room. Remember: this is a coding facility, so even if something makes no sense, it could still be important."

"Especially if it makes no sense." Teresa offered as she moved through an upper level door.

Nathan gave Tarik a clap on the shoulder as he moved off after the tech. After watching them move out of sight, Lorquin turned away, heading past something that he hoped wasn't – but probably was – a dissection table. Passing through a clear door, he found a series of low terminals, partnered with several larger computer banks that beeped now and again in some electronic chorus of deliberation.

His sharp avian eyes flickered over the equipment cautiously. He was no authority, but the set-up looked like any code-breaker's set up that he could imagine. What was interesting was the squat blue-black object that sat within a shimmering containment field, between two terminals.

It looked like some kind of pyramid, albeit one with curved edges... and therefore nothing like a pyramid. At a rounded top were a set of beetle-like attachments that looked suspiciously like claws.

On the cusp of his mind he felt the faintest of cloying whispers beginning to formulate themselves.

"Yeah. Definitely not touching that." He murmured to himself. The last time he'd had the feeling of ethereal voices in his head had not been much fun. He'd been sprayed with an experimental narcotic by a fleeing perp, back with C-sec. He'd caught the guy, but the next few days had been... _interesting. _Astrid had not helped by periodically asking if he had the "munchies".

Whatever they were.

He moved over to another computer bank, keeping the – almost certainly – Reaper artefact in his peripheral vision until the last moment. Even that felt risky.

Crouching over the nearest computer – this being Cerberus, the designers had not given much thought to alien usage – and tapped at the keyboard with an armoured talon.

Nothing happened.

He tried another key. This time, he was presented by a glowing screen with the Cerberus logo revolving proudly, and a prompt for a password.

_Spirits, why not. _

He tapped at the keyboard – thankful for the linguistics training he'd received at C-sec.

"_Ceaseless Bigotry"_ He typed.

"_Password Incorrect." _Angry red writing swept up to meet him.

He tried again – this time going out on a more sincere limb.

"_Shanxi" _

"_Password accepted."_

"Well bugger me sideways." He muttered, remembering a phrase that Astrid and several of his other human ex-colleges had thrown about. It seemed appropriate now.

Unfortunately, his sudden luck ran dry very quickly. A new message flashed up on-screen.

"_Use of terminals not authorised at this time. Base under TRAPDOOR protocols."_

Tarik frowned. Trapdoor protocols? On impulse he shifted his weight on the floor panelling beneath him. Falling through the floor would not be a good start to his N7 career.

Reassured that the ground was _not _about to disappear under him, he cast his eyes around again. The lab was too sterile, too tidy. They'd come across minimal armed resistance – to be expected from a code facility – but he hadn't seen _any _techs or workers. The place should have been full of them. Even if they'd evacuated when he and his teammates had attacked the base, there would have been signs of their flight.

Very curio –

Perhaps it was an advantage of Turian evolution and instincts. Or maybe it was just luck that gave Tarik the presence of mind to _throw_ himself to the ground, even as a lean Cerberus agent dropped from a newly exposed hatch in the ceiling, sword sparking as it struck the metal floor.


	19. Chapter 19: Sanctum-3

Chapter Nineteen: [Assignment: Sanctum], part 4

_[15 minutes ago...]_

"So. Nate, if you want to have one of your good old heart-to-hearts I'm game. These security systems are such a piss-take that I'm starting to get bored."

"Well, I'd hate you think that this mission's not living up to your expectations."

"Could be worse I guess. Could have Luke prattling in my ear."

Nathan frowned. He'd been patrolling carefully though the 1st floor control room, but now he turned back to Teresa – who stood a little way off, positioned at data bank.

"Come on Terry, that's not fair."

She peered at him over her shoulder, fingers still busy at the computer. She met his stern gaze, but not for long, her eyes flickering away guiltily. Neither she nor Luke had ever been able to stand up to that look.

"S'not my fault." She muttered petulantly.

Nathan rolled his eyes, leaning on his Saber rifle as he watched her.

"No. You're as bad as each other. It's been _eight years_ Terry. Can't you two start acting normally again? It would make this whole thing a lot easier."

"No we can't Nate. Luke just doesn't trust me anymore. Honestly, I can't say I blame him, but I can't say it doesn't hurt either," she trailed off a moment, sounding much more vulnerable than Nathan was used to hearing, "He's never got it like you do, he's still so naive. At least you actually _get _how the Alliance works."

He sighed heavily, falling back on introspection. It always came back to the N7s with these two. He'd been an instructor at Rio – been stuck training rookies after an injury. Luke and Teresa had stood out in a batch of already good recruits. They'd aced every one of his tests. And then she'd dropped out.

Being a Captain, and having a degree of clout, he'd been privy to chatter. But not much more. She'd switched – or been switched – to another program. And she hadn't been able to tell... anyone.

That was the crux. That was what he'd accepted, but Luke never had.

"Internal monologue?" Teresa asked, breaking him out of his revery.

"Uh-huh." He murmured, "I just wish the two of you wou-"

"Oh _shut up_ Nate," she groaned, "like you can talk now anyway. You and Neeros have been on the same ship for what? Four days? And already you're at each other's throats."

"Oh my good god though," he started, "The woman's a nightmare. So bloody superior. Thinks she knows the absolute best way to go about everything. It's _maddening_."

"Hilarious is the word I would use, it's great to watch the two of you." She grinned, looking over her shoulder again, "But, seriously – you're setting a terrible example of synergy for poor Tarik."

"Shut up Lieutenant." He growled, turning way and heading deeper into the control room.

"Uh-huh." She breathed, "God, these files are a load of crap. Unless... I might have somethi-"

"_ARGH!_"

* * *

Tarik grunted as he slammed into the ground, his spine jolting inside his thick armour. His finger locked around the trigger of his rifle and a dozen rounds leapt at the Cerberus Phantom.

His enemy let out her own growl of pain as fully half of Tarik's rounds connected, her barrier fizzling out. She moved on the offensive, pirouetting to the left even as Tarik fired again.

The Turian clambered to his feet, only to crash back into one of the computer banks as a vicious flying kick connected with his stomach. The machinery crumpled under his weight, sparking angrily, and his Phaeston clattered to the floor as the wind was knocked out of him. However, one of his newly freed hands snapped out, locking around his attacker's ankle even as she made to withdraw.

With a throaty snarl, Tarik yanked hard, pulling his opponent close. She slashed wildly with that glittering blade, but in an instant, he met it with her own – the omni-tool at his wrist snap-flashing, and _slicing _the sword apart with a searing strike.

He gripped the assassin, locking clawed hands around her head and neck. Impassive red slits were betrayed by scrabbling fingers. Then he twisted in two impossible directions, and the Phantom went limp.

* * *

Cerberus troopers dropped from concealed cavities in the ceiling, boot-thrusters checking their falls. Teresa vaulted behind a chunky processor as the first few rounds from the soldier's Hornets chased after her.

"Nate! Nate, don't you dare have died on me!" she screeched into her comm.-link, pressing herself low to the floor as shots pierced the processor. If that had been his scream over the comms, then...

Feet away, Nathan's situation was as dire as hers. As much as he wanted to placate her, it was all he could do to keep breathing.

First there had been the grate of metal on metal, and then an impact that would have broken him, if not for his thick Hahne-Kedar armour, as a Cerberus engineer _landed _on him.

Apparently, this had been a surprise to the engineer too, as the man took a moment, clambering off Nathan and placing a hand on a partition wall to steady himself.

"A moment is all an N7 needs", had been one of the popular mottos in his training days, and Nate did his instructors proud, as he lurched upwards. He drew the combat knife at his chest in an arching swipe that carried on even after the blade had sliced deep into his enemy's throat.

As the engineer slumped, gurgling to the ground, Nathan smashed an armoured toe into the visor, then span around, all thoughts on Teresa. W volley of submachine-gun fire met him, as the techie's attackers caught sight of him. Then Terry's voice finally filtered through his battle-focus.

"Nathan Harker you no-good pyjak fucking son of a bitch – you god-damn answer me now or so help me I will-"

"I'm fine Terry!" he shouted back, wincing at the combination of verbal and ballistic assaults.

"Great! Then maybe you can kill some of these wankers – _if it's not too much trouble!_"

Rolling his eyes, he swung his Saber around the corner, firing blindly into Teresa's section of the room. A choking cry validated his efforts, but also elicited a fresh burst of return fire. This was ludicrous. Of course, they'd expected resistance, but he never would have considered such a hare-brained ambush from Cerberus. He supposed that was why it had worked so well.

He heard the crack of Teresa's Paladin, which told him that his distraction had bought her a moment's respite.

He heard another cry, and made to lean out of cover, just as a pistol shot slammed into the wall beside him.

A pair of troopers carrying the same shields as before, backed by a quartet of their more regular compatriots and a hulking figure who looked like a leader, were assembled in the middle of a previously doorway.

There was a brief pause, as Nathan vaguely wondered why they hadn't shot him yet. Then he resigned himself to his fate. There was regret, yes, but also some slight edge of contentment.

Then there was a sound that he could only describe as a _"fwoosh"_, and he was knocked to the floor once more, as a tremendous wave of blue energy swept through him and into the Cerberus squad.

Still prone, he shifted his head around, already knowing what he would see – but a still a little chagrined by it.

Mallista Neeros stood in the doorway that lead back to the cargo bay, framed by raw biotic on a scale that he had never seen before.

Eyes blazing, she stalked forwards. As two of the troopers struggled to rise, she lashed out again, and Nathan recognised the deadly effects of a warp attack. He made to rise, but felt the pressure of Mallista's energy, and heard her warn – in a surprisingly gentle voice, "Stay down, Captain."

She had closed on the Cerberus soldiers now, and dodged their fire with a graceful twirl through the air. As she righted herself, she fired off a pair of Disciple rounds at close range, and two bloodied corpses hit the far wall.

The heavy looking leader shoved his last conscious lackey before him, and Mallista _decapitated_ the hapless soldier with a lazy flick, and a slash of some attack that Nathan had never seen before.

That left the Centurion. In was obvious that the man's rank did not reflect his bravery (although Nathan could sympathise with the fear that the Justicar seemed to have put in him) as he scrambled backwards.

Mallista struck out with a vicious kick, her heel catching the man's throat, then slamming into his chest. She murmured something, and then fired her shotgun for a third time. Nathan staggered to his feet, eyes wide and heart pounding after that display of raw power. He watched as Mallista backed up, seeming to shrink now that the battle was over.

Except that it wasn't.

With an involuntary yelp, he remembered Teresa. _No, please no._

He swung about, ready to charge against the other attackers.

Instead , he found a weary looking Tarik Lorquin, leaning on his Phaeston rifle beside Teresa, who was glaring daggers at him

"Got 'em sir." Tarik barked, trying and failing to snap to attention.

"No thanks to you, fuckface." Teresa glowered at Nate, but a familiar wrinkling of her nose told him that she was more glad to see him alive than truly angry.

"That's... fair enough," he murmured, "But I got into my own scrape. Would have been my last, if not for Mallista."

He turned, intending to beckon the Asari Justicar over, intending to salute her, to bury the hatchet. To his surprise, he found her standing almost directly behind him. Her face looked pale, her expression one of seeming reluctance. Her lips moved slightly, and then he noticed that her eyes – burning with power and fury mere moment before – were dulled and cloudy. A thin line of blood slithered from her nose.

He caught her as she slumped forwards, her fists locking, child-like, at his elbows.

**A/N:**** There may not be another update for a little longer this time, as the next chapter is fully planned, but not written up. However, I wanted to get this one up and out there today. Hopefully, it'll make up for any delay, since it's longer than the last few instalments have been. Hope you enjoy it.**


	20. Chapter 20: Sanctum-4

**A/N:****Sorry for the delay, please enjoy this bumper chapter!**

Chapter Twenty: [Assignment: Sanctum], part 5

Tarik took the lead, dashing through bay door and dropping into a crouch, Phaeston braced as his eyes swept for danger.

Behind him, Nathan grunted as he hitched Mallista's unconscious form up and over his shoulders.

"She is going to _kill you_ for that," Teresa observed. Rather unhelpfully, Nate thought, although she added – in a more concerned tone, "She okay?"

"Biotic fatigue, I reckon," he replied, garnering his – admittedly scant – knowledge of biotic abilities, "It was one hell of a display she put up."

He felt guilt gnawing at his gut; if he'd not been so complacent, so unobservant, she wouldn't have had to save his sorry ass.

"Tell me you got something good from the computers." He grumbled through gritted teeth, as he carried Mallista after Tarik.

"Gutted – took anything I could, and I reckon that – judging by the encryption that they tried _so hard _with – at least some of it is worthwhile." She nodded, stepping along behind him, Paladin drawn, and omni-tool at the ready.

They reached Tarik, who dropped a hand from his comm-link as they approached, "Captain – I took the liberty of calling in for evac. Neeros alright?"

"She'll be okay," Nathan replied, glad that the Turian's respect for his authority had not dampened his initiative, "I reckon she'll pull through alright."

"That's good. Listen Captain, I hate to mention it now, but I found some kind of... artefact in the labs back there, before Cerberus jumped us. I didn't touch it because, well, I didn't really want to."

Nate winced slightly at the word "jumped", remembering his unique encounter with the Cerberus engineer. He switched his focus back to Tarik, however, even as he placed Mallista gently against a stack of cargo crates. "What're you telling me Tarik?"

Lorquin bowed his head for a moment, and an image flashed up, projected by his omni-tool. "It was Reaper, Sir. I'm sure of it. To be honest, the colour scheme was my first tip-off, and I'm fairly certain _it_ was trying to get into my head."

Beside him, Nathan caught Teresa flashing a disturbed look at the Turian, but he frowned.

"You think we should go back for it?" he asked, casting his eyes around the bay anxiously – reinforcements, or even more Cerberus air fighters could appear at any moment.

"It's your call Captain, though with all due respect, I don't want to be the one to pick it up." Tarik shuffled uneasily, his predatory eyes following the same suspicious tack as Nathan's thoughts, "That said, your top brass would probably want a look at it."

"Nate no." Teresa snapped, even as Tarik finished, and before Harker could open his mouth to reply. As her two teammates raised eyebrows – or brow-plates – at her, she simply added, "I just think Tarik has the right idea, let's _just_ leave the creepy artefact thing alone, 'kay? Too late to back now right?"

He nodded slowly, glad to have the decision made for him.

"Alright then, but let's – "

But his next course of action was abruptly vetoed, as, with a tremendous booming, something huge and white crashed through a doorway on the far side of the control room, and began to trundle laboriously towards them.

"Oh Spirits, you _have got _to be kidding me."

* * *

The ATLAS mech halted, raising one chunky arm in their direction. Tarik hefted his rifle, already taking aim at the approaching titan. At the same time, Teresa grabbed Mallista's prone body, dragging her along as she clambered frantically into the main bay. Even as the ATLAS's arm cannon whirred into life, Nathan grasped Tarik around the waist, diving towards the walk-way's edge and forcing the heavier Turian to safety. The rail broke under their weight seconds before the mech's explosive payload crashed into the ground behind them.

Twisted metal groaned, and Nathan was reminded unhappily of the havoc that the Cerberus fighters had caused. Smoke billowed out as he and Lorquin clambered to their feet, and the stamp of the ATLAS drew closer.

Teresa had propped Mallista against a large munitions crate, and was slapping at the Asari's pale cheek in an attempt to wake her up.

"Any ideas Nate? Because this whole thing is going seriously tits up." She turned harassed eyes on Nathan, who was focused – Saber clutched in his hands – on the direction of the echoing foot falls.

"Tits?" Tarik wondered idly, crouching beside Nathan.

Before any of the marines could address the complexities of human biology and associated slang, a trio of Cerberus troopers – accompanied by a smaller engineer – barrelled out of the control room doorway.

Tarik's Phaeston snapped around, and he dropped one of the enemy soliders with a burst that caught the man's head. The second two troopers slid into cover, and opened fire on the N7s from behind the twisted metal of the walk way.

Nathan rolled from a crouch, diving behind a set of stacked crates. Leaning out on an angle to the Cerberus soldiers, he fired off a set of semi-auto rounds from his Saber. Its target cried out as a round punched through his gauntleted hand, but he was silenced a moment later as Nate's second shot caught him in the throat. A moment later, his partner staggered back, arms flailing as a blast from Teresa's omni-tool set him ablaze.

"Get the engineer you idiots! The engineer!" Terry yelled, firing with her own Paladin pistol. The engineer – who had capitalised on the distraction caused by his comrades – fell back with a set of wounds in his chest. But the damage was done: with a series of clicks and whirs, an angular white turret clattered into life. Immediately, a withering rate of fire blared forth, roving over the team's meagre cover.

Chips of metal flew off the cargo crates as the three teammates huddled behind them. Nathan listened s best he could, hoping more than waiting for the sound of reloading. But whether that noise came or not was lost to him, as the crashing of the ATLAS mech drew closer, and the metal beast forced its way into the cargo bay.

The canopy of the mech was visible even from behind their cover, towering above them. The clatter of the turret continued, even as the ATLAS pilot levelled his machine's cannon once more.

"Captain," began Tarik, "It's been an h – "

The Turian was cut short y the crash of a rifle report, and the turret gun's blare was cut off by an explosive roar.

The mech pilot momentarily forgot his targets, and both he and they swivelled about in search of the shot's source.

Chuck Fissinger's Alliance-blue Kodiak shuttle hung lazily in the air, its door flung wide. A pair of snipers sat in the shuttle's doorway, and Astrid Monroe's grin was almost as wide as Luke Spector's as she inspected the scene below. Spector himself flicked a lazy salute in Harker's direction, even as he aimed his still smoking Valiant rifle.

"Figured you'd need a little help on the way back, Captain." Monroe crowed through her comm.-link, peering through the scope of her M-98 Widow, "Hope Tarik's been behaving himself."

Tarik opened his mouth to retort, mandibles flaring. Before he could vocalise a rebuttal, however, both of the snipers fired.

Luke's shot seemed to have gone wide, until Nate realised that it had been – in fact – aimed perfectly at the ATLAS's gun arm, slicing through the central joint, which sparked angrily.

But the N7 sniper's skill was made suddenly moot, as the round from Monroe's Widow impacted with the mech's canopy.

The gold-tinted glass _shattered_, jagged ruins scattering. And the round travelled on, finally coming to rest in the centre of the pilot's skull. The man slumped forwards, falling onto the controls, and leaving most of his head behind.

Responding, the ATLAS marched on, colliding with the low handrail, until Teresa fired off an overload program; its systems froze, locking up, and the mighty mech collapsed with a thunderous crash.

Silence – save for the hum of the Kodiak's engine – filled the bay, as the away team gathered themselves together.

Fissinger brought the shuttle to a lower glide, hovering just to the edge of the battle-damaged landing pad. Nathan lifted Mallista up into his arms, moving off towards the shuttle, Tarik and Teresa following close behind. Teresa quirked an eyebrow at him as she caught up, looking from him to the unconscious Asari.

"You better hope you can set her back down 'fore she wakes up. Or she is going to be _pissed_."

"She did bloody good work back there. Scary good." He muttered absently.

"Par for the course with Justicars, so I hear." Tarik piped up.

"Sure, but this was something else," Nathan persisted, "though what do I know. Funnily enough, in all my years of service, I've never met a Justicar before now."

They drew closer to the shuttle, and quickly became aware of Luke and Astrid bickering.

"I thought you said you were a _good_ shot Spector!"

"I bloody well am _Monroe_; I _destroyed_ that thing's primary weapon."

"Oh of course, and thank you so much brave Knight, for saving us all – we were in so much danger!"

"If you'd missed that canopy shot, we damn well would have been! And speaking of Knights: I'll go _medieval_ on your arse if you keep this crap up!"

"Oh puh-leese Spector. You'd blow over in a strong wind; you're a sniper, and you ain't even that good at that gig."

"That's bull: I can brawl with the best of 'em."

"No shit? When we get back on the Drake, maybe you can show me some moves – a few rounds with the Krogan."

Luke opened his mouth, glared, and then closed it again. Tarik gave him a sympathetic pat on the back as he clambered into the Kodiak. "Three years in C-sec friend, I know your pain."

Luke chuckled at that, and Astrid sat back, grinning smugly, arms folded as Nate buckled Mallista into a chair beside her, before finding his own spot. Luke shot him a grin, and then reached into the cockpit, slapping Chuck Fissinger's headset covered head.

" 'Scuse me folks – I was trying to drown out the racket these two scope-monkeys were making with a bit of Asari synth," Luke snorted in disgust at the pilot's musical tastes, but Chuck continued, undaunted, "Back to the ship then Skipper?"

"Right speedily Chuck." Nathan nodded, settling back, and allowing a contented grin to creep onto his face, as Teresa slid the shuttle door closed, and they swept away.

* * *

[SSV Drake: War Room]

_[Two hours later...]_

"...and in spite of Cerberus and their 'trapdoor' manoeuvre, you still completed the assignment to a satisfactory level. Congratulations are in order." Magnusson nodded briskly, hands clasped behind his back as he rounded off his role in the debriefing.

"Stupid, really," Luke muttered to Nathan, "Trap doors tend to be in the floor, not the ceiling – ooff!" A well timed elbow to the ribs from Astrid prevented him from continuing on the semantics of trapdoors.

Magnusson, misinterpreting Luke's sudden exhale, turned steely eyes on the sniper. "Yes... Spector. I suppose commendation is due to you and Monroe, for you involvement. Despite it being un-ordered, and only rather tenuously within protocol."

"Commendation?" Luke piped up, "Formal commendation?"

"Don't push your luck, Lucian." Magnusson smirked.

Astrid, perched on the War Room handrail, doubled over, nearly losing her perch.

"Your... name... is _Lucian_?" she panted, before clamping a hand over her mouth, trying to stop the tidal wave of mirth that threatened to escape.

Luke's ears burned red, "I... I will... It's..."

Astrid roared with laughter, and Teresa shot her a smug wink. Even Nate cracked a grin – that he quickly turned into a solemn frown, as Luke turned a disgusted expression on him. Only Tarik looked nonplussed at the comedic significance of "Luke's" given name.

Magnusson – whose eyes were sparkling with triumphant good humour – cleared his throat, as Specialist Renton stepped up to the central dais, omni-tool active at his wrist.

But before he could speak, another cough broke the momentary silence. All eyes turned, to see Mallista Neeros – still slightly paler than usual, but stern-browed – standing at the lip of the war room's centre.

Nate detached himself from the group, moving to greet her, "Mallista," he started, but she shot him a look that plainly said, 'Not now', before focusing her attention on Renton.

"My apologies, Specialist."

That in itself was a surprise, and Renton blinked accordingly.

"Ah, uhm, well then, everyone... we've just finished going through the first of the data packets that Operative Grant retrieved on Sanctum – and I'll just say now, it's gold dust."

Teresa performed a mock curtsey, then settled back, battling to keep a broad grin off her face. Before he turned back to Renton, Nate couldn't help but notice Luke's eyes, which were fixed firmly on the back of Terry's head.

"So far," Renton continued, "We've got weapon specs, armour designs _and _blueprints – a very clever omni-gel application that seems to work best on Hanar of all things – and a list of transaction and shipping data that I'm sure Alliance Command will just _love_."

"Back in C-sec, we'd call that a career-maker," Astrid piped up, as she stretched out, gripping the hand rail, and propped her legs up on Tarik's shoulder.

"Remember that one time? Fist's haul in Zakera West?" she whispered loudly, and the Turian chuckled, before inkling his head towards Renton. She swatted his crest, but remained quiet.

"Just as you say." The Specialist beamed, "And there's more to come. Lieutenant Grant made some excellent headway in decoding Cerberus' encryptions, and we should be through them very soon indeed. From what we've gathered so far though, it looks like we might have snatched the briefing for an upcoming engagement, or Operation."

The team's collective interests were instantly piqued, but it seemed as though further information was not to be forthcoming. Magnusson stepped forwards as Renton shuffled back.

"Right you lot: you're all on downtime effective immediately. That said, I want you all ready: we don't have any new assignments right now, but we're always on call."

With a few salutes and murmured "Yessir"s , the N7s filed away from the control room dais, and towards the doors.

Nate moved ahead quickly, leaving Luke beside Tarik and Astrid. He caught up to Mallista just as she was passing though the open doorway.

"Hey."

"Captain." She murmured, still walking.

"Mallista, listen: I wanted to thank you... you saved my life back on Sanctum, and... "

She raised an eyebrow, and Harker blinked. He honestly would have expected an interruption by now.

"... and... that was an impressive – really, amazing bit of biotics. So, thank you." He grinned lopsidedly, trying to win her over with the offer of a fresh start.

They'd stopped, and the others passed them by without a word.

Then they were alone.

Something seemed to be stirring in her eyes as she met his gaze, but they betrayed nothing.

"It was _nothing_. You were an ally in danger. You would have done – you _did_ do the same for me."

She looked more frustrated than grateful.

"It's... no problem then." He smiled uncertainly, "And with the whole... helping you thing – it was only because you were, well, unconscious. I wasn't doubting you or your – "

"I know that!" she snapped, cheeks filling with a darker blue. "It was... as you said... we are both part of a 'unit' now."

A pause.

"So, friends?" he held out a hand.

"I will still correct you, should you make a foolish tactical decision."

"Of course – wouldn't have it any other w – "

She never shook his hand. In hindsight, Nathan would wonder if handshakes were simply something that Asari did not go in for. At the time, there was little else he could consider, save for the touch of her lips on his, the taste of her in his mouth, and the warmth of her body, pressed against his for the briefest of moments.

**A/N:  Bloody hell, I very much hope that was worth the wait. About 5 seconds before upload it looked like I'd lost the word file...**

**Lot's of action in the next few chapters, for those of you who can't get enough of the shooty bits.  
**

**And since this is chapter 20 (woot! milestone), might I cordially request that if you _are_ consistently reading this story, you leave a review?  
**

**It really, really helps to know what you like, and what you don't, and what you'd like to see in the future.  
**

**Again, since it's chapter 20, why not give your thoughts on the story as a whole so far?  
**

**And I'd like to take a minute to thank NLReal, for the reviews I _have_ received, and for sticking with me so far. 10 reviews from one reader - follow that example guys!  
**

**I look forward to bringing you the next installment.  
**


	21. Chapter 21: Illium3-1

Chapter Twenty-One: [Illium]

Ford Llewellyn heard something crunch as he threw himself to the trading room floor.

Upon further inspection, he was reassured by the discovery that it had, in fact, been a credit shit. The gunfire rattling around the stock exchange brought his mood back down to resolutely foul.

As Mattock rounds crashed into the machinery and walls around them, Ford turned to Harry Quinn, who was slumped beside him, hands clasped over his head. "We need to get the fuck out of here Bach! Too many civvies here!"

"You're right," Harry nodded quickly, wincing as a trickle of blood squirmed its way down his temple, "I'm having anyone else dying because of me."

"Well look at that Bach, you're improving eh?"

"It'd be more due to a guilty conscience than altruism Ford, but yeah – the morals are essentially the same. Besides, the police are bound to get here _eventually_... "

Ford nodded back, then ducked as a heavy rifle round _punched_ through an ad for Cirta Foundation shares. His quick eyes darted across the trading floor, settling on a cab bank on the right.

"Over there!" he pointed with his Carnifex, grasping Harry's upper arm, "Can you do us a barrier then?"

Harry groaned quietly, "My head's still rattled," he touched a wound at his skull tenderly, "But I reckon it'll hold now."

As his friend spoke, Ford popped up, chancing a look out of cover.

Almost immediately, he was crouched again. Ten, maybe even a dozen Cerberus troopers clustered around the stock exchange, firing mercilessly on their position.

God they were brazen. Ford was beginning to realise just how much they'd underestimated the organisation's determination.

He'd seen bodies, too. Many of the Illium traders that had been gathered about when he and Harry had entered were now dead. Victims of circumstance – not that Harry needed to know.

"Not good out there, is it?" Harry asked rhetorically, "Ready to g?" His hands bristled with biotic energy, a sheen rippling over his skin and suit, before spreading out to encompass his stocky bodyguard.

Ford grasped Harry's elbow, hauling him away from their improvised cover. A multitude of shots smacked into the biotic barrier, dissipating on impact. They dashed towards the stationary sky cars, Harry's teeth gritted in pain, as the bullet impacts whittled away at his biotic reserve.

He saw the troopers already starting to move forwards, heading after them, the cleverest ones conserving their ammo, knowing the barrier would drop before long, and that their quarries would be unable to return fire until that time.

But then they were at the cab bank, and with a grunted curse, Harry shifted into an ovaloid shield. Ford dropped to his knees, and waved his omni-tool over the nearest car's lock.

Moments later, he had it open, and dived in, hacking the internal security and gunning the engine.

"Harry – get in!"

Even as Harry turned, one of the Cerberus soldiers broke into a run, charging towards the smaller man, shoulders braced for a tackle.

Ford scrambled to react, fumbling his pistol, which dropped to the cab floor. He needn't have bothered.

Shifting his biotic shield, Harry's hand dropped to his hip. He held his Predator pistol lazily, adopting a gunslinger's stance, and peppering the charging trooper with rounds.

As the man crumpled to the ground, Quinn released his biotic energy, and stepped lightly into the waiting car.

"Never miss a chance to show off do you?" Ford affected an air of irritation, his broad grin somewhat at odds with that, "Who taught you that move? Robert Redford?"

"You know me so well." Harry winked in reply.

Ford span the car out of the parking lot and into the Illium sky lanes. Back and below, several of the Cerberus troopers made to continue their chase, piling into a pair of cars. But as they did, the urban battleground was flooded by the lights of a Police Gunship. As the remaining troopers scrambled for cover, Harry rolled his eyes.

"About bloody time, it's no wonder Lis gave up on the cops."

Ford grunted, and the sky car sped away.


	22. Chapter 22: Illium3-2

Chapter Twenty-One: [Illium]

It could have been worse; he could have been a back-seat driver. That was about the only consolation Ford could find at the present time.

"Fuck!" Harry yelped, as the sky car careened between a pair of heavy looking cargo trucks, and sped out into traffic, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

"Oh don't be such a bloody baby!" Ford roared happily, in what Harry thought might just be a bad impression of him.

"Christ! I thought being in a Mako with driving was terrifying enough, but this is – AUGH" he screamed outright, clutching – white-knuckled – at his chair as Ford dropped the car seven feet and barrelled into a traffic tunnel.

Ford kept the car moving ahead, putting the modest vehicle through its paces as he weaved through the dense sky traffic. He'd always had an affinity for vehicles, knew how to use them right, to treat them as he would his battle-armour; a part of him, facilitating his own movements.

Of course, what felt natural for him did not translate so well for others, a point that Harry's chain swearing had proved.

Then something blue flashed into his peripheral vision, and a spine-jarring impact rattled through the car.

Ford spun the wheel, hand-over-hand, back to the right – trying frantically to avoid a head-on collision with another car. Beside them, he saw the blue cab _swinging _back towards them, several pairs of red eyes leering out from behind the darkened windows.

The Cerberus-commandeered cab swiped back towards them, and at the last moment, Ford angled the car upwards and ratcheted up the speed.

They sped out of the tunnel, cresting the upper lip and avoiding critical damage to the roof by inches.

Then they were out in the open Illium sky again, sliding across the glimmering expanse. A glance in the wing mirror told him that their pursuers had survived the "subway" and had been joined by a second, red, cab.

Harry howled and Ford let the car drop again, following a new stream of traffic.

He dodged and weaved, flitting into which ever lanes and routes that would get them ahead, and put more streaking cars between them and the cabs chasing them.

But the blue car was gaining on them, and it reached so close that Ford could make out the battered and chipped paintwork that had been the price of their dance in the tunnel. That gave him an idea.

He took a sharp turn, following a branch of traffic that lead off between two hulking skyscrapers.

In the rear view mirror he saw the first stage of his improvised plan click into place. The red cab overshot the turn-off, racing past the gap; the blue followed, its unseen driver executing an admirable swivelling turn that brought him up on their heels.

Ford followed a line of building doggedly, the bright night lights of Illium's tireless business quarter flashing by, swirling together into a dizzying haze.

Beside him, Harry face turned the same green as his eye.

The blue gained still closer, and it was now bumping at the tail of their vehicle, swaying back and forth – trying to catch up and get alongside them once more.

"All in good time you bloody bastards." Ford muttered maliciously.

He made another turn – but slowed this one down, sliding out into an outside lane, going wide.

The pursuant car had anticipated a quicker turning, and shot out around the bend as well – and now the Cerberus agents found themselves _between_ their quarry and a tower with an expansive plate-glass window.

Ford cracked a Cheshire grin, and then swung out to the left, before returning to the right in a violent flash of speed and _crashing_ into the blue chaser.

The Cerberus cab took the impact to its damaged side, and the metal buckled, even as the rest of the car was shunted violently to one side –

- and punched through the glass of the tower with devastating force.

Ford sped away, not lingering to see the subsequent results of his handiwork, knowing the momentum of his strike should have had the desired effect.

Sure enough, moments later, a fireball erupted from within the skyscraper.

One down.

Harry stared, wide-eyes, behind them, and then gathered himself together for the first time since they had entered the skycar. "Make a left – now. I know where we can go."

Ford nodded silently, his eyes still roving for the second chaser, flickering from the windows to yjr windshield to the mirrors. The crash with the blue had not been without sacrifice, and the car's visual display told him that the right side was a mess.

The car was certainly a slowing down – despite his coaxing. If they could just reach ... wherever Quinn had in mind before the red found them again...

And then he saw it, rising up from a lower traffic lane, and speeding up to catch them as he forced the car into a second tunnel.

He pushed every seconds grace of power into their lead, trying to stay ahead, and to avoid the swarming Illium traffic.

Behind them, the Cerberus driver had raised part of the roof, and a pair of his comrades had Mattocks braced in their arms, as they opened fire.

Mad bloody bastards.

He weaved the car as best he could, but several shots found their mark, crashing into the cab's chassis.

They kept on, and neared a junction, a quadruple fork in the road. A large yellow sign spelt out the word "Haulage", and Harry's eye light up.

"Gun it." He said simply, with an old tone of voice that Ford knew meant, "Do exactly what I say because I am a batshit genius."

Ford slammed at the controls, commanding the maximum of the car's reserves. They shot ahead, and behind them, the red cab did the same, trying to compensate.

They blazed through the plus-shaped fork, and just as they reached the edge of the middle lane, Harry roared in his ear.

"Brake and brace!"

Again Ford did as he was bid, grasping at his chair and pushing his head back into the neck rest, locking himself in place as best he could.

The red cab _smashed_ into the back of theirs. Warning lights screamed amber and red, their car groaned as metal crumpled, and the two standing troopers behind were sent flying as their transport practically _leapt_ from the awful impact.

There was a moment's pause, as Ford gingerly reached for the controls.

And then a roaring crash, as a _huge_ transport car thundered across the pass behind them. Catching the enemy cab and obliterating it.

They sped away, as fast as the ailing skycar would allow.

Harry nursed his, already bruised, head, murmuring directions, until they escaped the bustle of traffic, and came – mercifully – softly into land on a low-slung balcony.


	23. Chapter 23: Illium3-3

Chapter Twenty-Three: [Illium]

Harry Quinn's green eye flickered as it arranged itself into a fresh retinal pattern.

The scanner flashed a corresponding tone, and a door slid open with a soft hiss. He touched his temple softly, wincing.

"Head giving you grief Bach?" Ford Llewellyn asked at his side, a look of concern on the shorter man's broad face.

"All things considered, it _could _have been worse." He replied airily. That was certainly true. He _could _be lying on the floor of an Illium Stock exchange with the top of his skull sliced off. Luckily, the Cerberus Phantom had overshot, and Harry had escaped with a nasty cut and nothing more. The assassin had been less lucky: Ford had emptied his Carnifex's first clip into its body, following through with a stamp to the head for good luck.

Of course, then the rest of the squad had turned up.

And now, here they were, stepping into the relative sanctuary of a Cerberus safe house.

Strip lighting flickered on as they entered, the white glow illuminating a room which was simply packed.

Stack of neatly labelled lock-boxes and crates took up an entire wall, and to the left was a sprawling set of monitors and chunky processors. Ford's eyes lit up with a childish glee as Harry pointed him in the direction of an expansive gun rack. As the Welshman trotted over to admire the black-market ordnance, Harry moved into the room proper.

He'd known where to find this – one of fourteen Cerberus safe houses – and had figured it should be a priority stop, given the sudden step up in their pursuit.

He moved over to a box marked "First aid", and reached out with his biotics, shaking the lock apart.

Moments later, he had applied the gel and his head was soothed by a warm rush. He'd have a nasty bruise, but any danger was passed now.

He rummaged through a wider selection of boxes, adding to their supply of rations and medicine. Along the way, his hand hovered over a clear packet, its red contents drawing his eye. He found a file of star charts in another container and, and picked them up on a nostalgic whim. It was likely that the maps – having been produced by Cerberus – were already stored in his greybox, but it was nice to have a physical reference for once.

He couldn't feel it, but he was always aware of its presence. The biggest mistake of his life.

Why had he done it? Ego? Insurance? Sheer bloody-mindedness?

Whatever his reasoning had been, it hadn't been worth it, had it? A device imbedded in his cranium, and a wealth of information – several lifetime's worth of dodgy deals, skulduggery, and everything everyone wanted hushed up – everything he had ever discovered or learned or stolen locked up for safekeeping in the old grey matter.

And _of course_ Cerberus wanted it all back.

Was that the reason? Spite? And act of rebellion?

Who the fuck knew. Introspection was getting him nowhere.

He moved over to the computer bank. Perhaps there'd be something new to add to his mental menagerie. Any Cerberus machines would be shut down and password protect –

But they weren't

"Odd." He commented, frowning as he felt the soft heat radiating from the nearest laptop.

"What's that then?" Ford approached from the other end of the room, adjusting the clasps on a freshly armoured wrist.

Momentarily forgetting the curious computers, Harry took a step back, taking an appraising look at Ford.

"Nice kit," he offered, looking over the thick black armour that his friend had commandeered. Then he noticed the guns. He craned his neck around incredulously. Ford had been busy with the weaponry rack. As well as the Carnifex at his hip, he'd selected an M-76 Revenant machine gun, and an... M-920 Cain.

"_Why_ do you need so many weapons?" he asked, eyeing the Cain nervously.

"Why not?" was Ford's reply.

Harry rolled his eyes, turning back to the Computer set-up.

"So what was odd?" Ford asked again, peering around Harry's shoulder.

"It's just that this computer's on." Quinn murmured, as he tapped at the keys. "This safe house isn't in current use – everything bar the security should be shut down."

"So?" Ford asked, already bored and looking away, back towards the door.

"So if it's _on_ – it's going to be connected to the local networks, or at least giving off some kind of signature... "His brows knitted with worry, as the Cerberus logo appeared.

Then a pop-up filled the screen, presenting a single word: "Transmitting."

"Oh shit." Cried Harry, slapping his forehead. "Shit!"

"What?" Ford wheeled back around, just as a pair of grenades bounced into the room.

* * *

Lantano Cassidus tapped at his omni-tool, and bared his teeth in a grin at the automated message displayed itself.

"Activity at location Alpha; Transmitting."

He turned a single avian eye towards the building that loomed opposite him. He focused on the balcony, and the abandoned skycar parked quite innocuously.

He opened up a comms channel, cocking his head to one side.

"Bakall, are you in position?"

"Of course I damn well am, now when do I get to kill them?" a throaty voice, like granite on granite, rumbled in his earpiece.

"We've been over this: you only get to kill the short one."

"They're _all_ short to me!"

"The short_er_ one then – just stand by for my signal dammit!"

He cut the link with a grumbled curse. _Idiot._

Turning to his other comrades, he beckoned them over. Garron, the human, adjusted the sights on his Mattock rifle, before sloping over. He shot Lantano a contemptuous look, "W goin' then?"

Lantano replied with a grunt. Not wanting to waste any more time than he had to on the human, who he was fairly certain was a xenophobe. Garron took a lengthy drag on his fourth cigarette of the night, and then flicked the stick over the building's edge.

Beside him, Zevandra sighed.

"Got the grapnel line ready Cassidus?"

"Whenever you're ready Zev." He smiled at the small Quarian at his side – the only teammate he'd actually chosen personally.

Zev nodded, features impassive behind the red-tinted visor. She dropped to one knee, bracing the grapnel gun against her shoulder.

She fired, and the gun let out a hydraulic thump, as the line launched, whistling across the gap, and smashing into the target building across the way.

"Right, Garron, get those grenades ready and take point, Zev give us overwatch." He shot orders as he took custody of the grapnel, attaching the line securely, "Now let's get to work."

**A/N:**** Hope that went well, I've been working pretty hard lately so I haven't had much time for the story, and things are going to be tricky for the next week as well, but it shouldn't be as long a wait until chapter 24.**

**Speaking of chapter headings I've just noticed that the previous entry is entitled 21, within the document, which is... very annoying. I'll work on fixing that at some point but right now I honestly can't be arsed. **

**NLReal: Sorry it's taken me this long to get back to you on the review questions. About the Hanar medi-gel: yeah, Shepard did pick that up in-game. However, since in this series the N7 ops have been established right off the bat, there's no in-series reason for Shepard to be doing the N7 assignments, and he/she can focus on, y'know, saving the galaxy. It was just a little feature I thought I'd through in, since I borrowed the Sanctum setting for this first job.**

**Glad the characters are growing on you. Off-duty interactions are coming soon, once the Illium jaunt is wrapped up.**

**Okay, to the rest of you reading - I know you're out there - please don't forget to leave a review with your thoughts and any questions you might have.**

**Until next time.**


	24. Chapter 24: Illium3-4

Chapter Twenty-Four: [Illium]

The room filled with thick grey smoke, and very quickly, neither Harry nor Ford could see anything but the gloomy shapes of their own limbs.

While Ford let loose a stream of the Valley's best curses, Harry reached calmly into his jacket pocket. His left eye flickered once. The vision remained greyed, but the shade was darker, hazier. He clicked the device in his pocket, which sent out an inaudible pulse of sound.

In moments, the sonar fed back, and the sound waves painted an image which his left eye relayed to the optical circuits that moored it. He saw the strong white outlines of the room, and then the shape of a doorway. He reached out, fumbling, and grasped Ford's arm.

"Ford." He muttered.

A dark shape swung round, and hit him square in the face.

"Fuck! You fucker! It's me you bastard!" he roared, spitting blood. He felt Ford's gauntlet-covered hands on his shoulders and shrugged him off angrily, holding his nose.

"Christ, sorry Bach!" You spooked me is all. Got your magic eye working then have you?"

Harry spat again, and straightened up. The sonar map had faded, and he sent out another pulse with the emitter in his pocket. The white pattern reformed, but almost immediately shook itself into a haze as he made for the door, dragging the sheepish Ford behind him.

He kicked at the door, which gave just as he heard footfalls from beyond the smoke.

They hurried through, and though the smoke billowed after them, the darkness they walked into was a much more welcome environment.

Even as his eyes both re-adjusted, he made quickly for a nearby staircase, Ford following.

"Why is it then, wherever we go, the shit hits the proverbial fan eh? Omega, Noveria, and now Illium, Illium, blood Illium!" he grumbled. "At least we have proper guns this time." He grinned in the gloom as he unhitched the Revenant.

Harry rounded the staircase's first turn, and opened his mouth to reply – only to throw himself down as a burst of fire issued from the smoky doorway and rattled off the stairs. _"Shit!"_

Ford wheeled around, bracing the Revenant and blasting at the doorway, "Go!" he bellowed, "Go on, I'll be right behind you!"

Already rounding another level, Harry scrambled up the last steps, reaching another door, which slid open as he neared it. He stumbled into what seemed to be a wide, open-plan office, bumping into a low cubicle partition.

"Fuck." He mumbled, moving deeper into the room. The lights were gone here as well, and he had to guide himself around one-eyed, with a hand on the partition.

Gunfire still barked out from below, and then the door slid closer again, muting the fire fight.

Harry looked up, searching for another door. Ford would be alright. He always was. He'd be alright. He – Harry – would find an exit, scout ahead, and then they'd work their way out together. Just like old times.

His eye swivelled in its socket, the cubicles obscuring much of the room beyond. As he moved forwards, the firing below became quieter, and he began to be aware of a new noise.

The heavy, snorted breathing of something _large_ drew him to a hulking black shape, standing not much more than eight feet away.

* * *

The Krogan roared as it burst into motion, crashing right through the first flimsy partition, knocking desks, chairs and electronics out of its way as it bore down on Harry.

Quinn prided himself on his contingency plans; liked to think he'd always have a plan ready, no matter what situation he found himself in. A charging Krogan was no exception.

He _threw_ himself out of the way, hitting the floor hard and scrambling up. To his horror and surprise, the huge alien then _changed direction_, thundering towards him once more, roaring a throaty laugh as it drew closer and closer.

Harry vaulted over another cubicle, and drew his pistol. The Krogan skidded to a halt, panting, and turned towards him.

"Quinn..." it growled.

"Fuck you." Harry spat back, emptying his Predator's clip into the Krogan's face.

Very little happened.

Rounds peppered the alien's dark brow crest, and the hood of its armour, one even tearing into its cheek. In the muzzle flash, it's eyes showed up cloudy and red. Blood rage, well that made sense.

There was a stillness as they stared at each other, the floor creaking as the Krogan stalked towards him.

A tinny voice broke the silence, piping up from the Krogan's exposed comm.-link.

"Bakall? Dammit Bakall hurry the fuck up. Llewellyn is headed towards you, and he's winged Garron. Bakall for fuck's sake do you copy? Grab Quinn and get to the fucking roof."

Harry blinked, stumbling backwards, and colliding into yet another partition.

"Quiiiiinn..." Bakall rumbled, grasping the low wall before him and crumpling it with an animal determination.

"Oh... fuck!" harry yelped as Bakall lunged for him, and this time his heavy foe connected. Quite suddenly, Harry found his under-appreciated airways constricted, as the Krogan lifted him, one-handed into the air. As Bakall's clawed fingers tightened around his puny throat, Harry kicked out frantically, hands scrabbling at the gaps between his enemy's burly knuckles. All to no avail, as the air steadily escaped him.

Then Bakall let out a bellow of pain, as a series of gunshots rupped through the muted nerves of his blood rage.

Ford Llewellyn stalked steadily towards the Krogan, the Revenant thundering in his arms.

Round after round smacked into Bakall, who staggered, founts of orange blood spurting from fresh wounds.

Harry found himself able to wriggle free, and pushed away from the massive Krogan savagely. At this last straw, Bakall slumped to the floor with a gurgle, and Harry scrambled back. Moments later, Ford was at his side, and the shorter man grabbed him roughly around the collar, dragging him away from the alien's prone bulk.

"Move." Ford growled, shoving a suddenly shivering Harry towards a waiting door at the room's far end.

"You alright?" Quinn muttered, hand clutched on the red packet in pocket, "They give you much trouble? I heard chatter on the Krogan's comm."

"Not too much." Ford's voice came gruff and quick, as he kept pushing Harry on, "Two of them – judgin' by the rate of fire. Reckon I got one though, heard someone yelling bloody murder."

"Yeah you did." Harry gave a muted reply. The adrenalin that had been coursing through him during the encounter with Bakall was fading fast, and his body was screaming for him _not_; to _please not_ let it come down.

They moved through the door, which gave a malevolent swish. Then they were barrelling up a fresh flight of steps, and Ford grunted as he shouldered open a smaller service door.

They stumbled out into the Illium night once more, and the rush of outside air that met Harry was like diving into cold water.

"Reached the roof then, bloody brilliant," Ford cursed loudly, "Fuckin' yell – where do we bloody well go from here?"

"Dunno." Harry groaned. He coughed, stumbling to one side and leaning on a workman's railing.

It was probably this motion that saved him.

With a bloodcurdling roar, the brutish Krogan burst out of the doorway behind them, rushing past Harry and powering straight into Ford, knocking the Welshman away.

Llewellyn went flying, crashing to the ground across the rooftop, and slamming into a heavy-looking ventilation unit.

"Ford!" Quinn cried, moving to rush to his friend's aid. Ford didn't react, lying perfectly still on his side, blood _covering_ his face as it welled from his head.

The Krogan, Bakall, turned towards Harry, slavering and spitting as he blocked the way to Ford. Bakall, too, was coated in his own blood, but his sheer size was still _terrifying._

"Quiiiinn... gonna eat your insides Quiiiinn..." he growled, loping towards his next meal.

Harry gulped, loudly, his brain still trying to process that last colourful threat. His biotics crackled into life, but something told him it wasn't going to be enough, as Bakall's shields shimmered iover his battered and stained armour.

Then, through his frazzled mind, several pieces clicked together. He tore the packet – the one he'd been coveting since the safe-room – from his pocket, ripping it open and forcing the red sand against his face.

He snorted, sneezed, eyes bulging as the old friend assaulted his senses again.

Bakall had stopped in his tracks, staring at Harry incredulously.

Biotics burst in a flare of power as the new high hit Harry with as much force as the Krogan might have.

He bellowed incoherently, and let loose a burst of raw power.

A rush of blue energy kicked into Bakall, catching the Krogan, shaking him like a ragdoll. With a conductor's sweep, Harry tossed him across the expansive rooftop, cackling madly at the evidence of his revenge. Bakall smacked into the roof and then _bounced_, tumbling out into the sky and off the roof.

Harry grinned rather stupidly, and then staggered onto one knee as a rush of energy coursed through his system. He sneezed, red grains spattering his shirt.

He looked around, feebly, body shaking worse than ever. The pupil of his real eye dilated to an almost impossible degree, and the vision began to glaze. He shut it, depending once again on the cybernetic as he sloped over towards Ford.

Then he was knocked to the ground _again _as something crashed into him. His biotics spluttered, and he struggled to respond, but a sturdier push shunted him across the roof, and landed him hard up against a ventilator.

He struggled to sit up, his injured head bursting with pain once more. His hazy vision settled on a pair of murky figures approaching from the rooftop door.

He sneezed again.

* * *

**A/N: ****Hope everyone enjoyed that, please do let me know if you did, along with any other thoughts or questions. Chapter 25 will be out in the not too distant future, but for now, enjoy the cliff-hanger!**


	25. Chapter 25: Illium3-5

Chapter Twenty-Five: [Illium]

"That is fucking pathetic." Garron sneered, a hand pressed to his side as he approached Quinn's slumped form. Lantano at his side, the Turian's biotics shimmering a deep blue.

Lantano ignored him. Garron was a runty little bastard, all lank black hair and twitchy eyes. And he did little else besides sneer. He'd already managed to get himself winged by Llewellyn. If he'd had his way, it would have just been him and Zev on the job, but they'd needed extra bodies and their employer had provided.

He approached Quinn, booted talons making a clacking noise that even he had to admit sounded ominous. Poor bastard, what the hell had he done to himself? Then again, what had he done to Bakall? That had been quite a display of biotics.

Oddly enough, Lantano found his sympathies drawn more towards the slumped and shivering human than to his erstwhile colleague.

He reached Quinn, and pressed a hand to his comm-link.

"Zev, we clear?"

The filtered voice of his Quarian partner buzzed into life.

"Yeah Cassidus, I've got you covered. Erm... Bakall is sort of... very dead, by the way. He fell about twenty-seven stories."

"Small loss." Lantano growled. Bakall had been another unwelcome addition.

"Okay then. So wrap up quick huh? I want to get back to the apartment, I feel like tonight's a night to test my immune system."

Lantano let out a low chuckle, as he crouched in front of Quinn, "No flirting on the job. See you soon." He shut off the channel.

Behind him, Garron began to play idly with a vicious-looking knife.

Cassidus gripped Quinn by the face, locking his cheeks firmly – but not overly painfully – between his talons. One blood-shot eye met his own singular optic, Quinn's prosthetic drooped forlornly. Red powder speckled his nose and upper lip, and suddenly the biotic blast, the shivers, all made sense.

"Spirits." He mumbled, "You're a mess."

Harry slowly focused on the Turian before him. Grey plates, with simplistic red markings, and an eye patch covering one eye – or lack thereof.

"Hey..." he burbled slowly, "We match. One eye see." He backed up the statement by causing his green eye to rotate wildly. "You should get yourself one of these lovelies: all _sorts_ of special extras, like built-in eco-location to counter pesky smoke grenades."

Lantano nodded wryly, "There's one mystery solved."

"How'd you lose yours then..." Quinn drawled, eye losing focus, until he started up abruptly, staring at something behind Cassidus. "Hey! Don't you fucking dare you son of a bitch!"

The Turian shoved a struggling Quinn back as he wheeled about, in time to see Garron crouching over Llewellyn's prone form, knife poised to cut the man's throat.

"Quit that!" Lantano snapped, "Leave his be you coward."

Garron stared at him incredulously for a moment, then backed down. In his singular periphery, he noticed the laser sight of Zev's rifle playing around Garron's feet as he stepped away, the Quarian respecting the idiosyncrasies of her Turian partner's honour. Garron returned his focus to the blade, eyeing Lantano sourly.

"Hurry it up eh?" he whined, "You goddamn aliens take too long to do anything."

Cassidus ignored him, turning back to the target.

Quinn seemed to have regained some lucidity in the face of his friend's imminent execution. There was a slightly wearier cast to his gaze now, and a little... gratitiude?

"Cheers mate, you're not such a bad sort eh?" he nodded towards Ford, "He doesn't really have to die, y'know?"

That explained it. There was a pleading edge to his voice now that Lantano couldn't fault, in the service of a friend, he could almost admire it.

"No. He doesn't. Not necessarily."

"But you've got to kill me, right?"

"Yes I do. The bounty is specifically dead. With the graybox intact." He nodded, respecting Quinn's levity, "I'm going to do it now. I have a toxin I can deliver with my omni-tool, or I can break your neck with my biotics. Both are quite quick, and relatively painless; which would you prefer?"

Quinn blinked, one-eyed, and Lantano suppressed another chuckle at the affinity.

"you're an odd sort of bounty hunter y'know. But biotics? You're with the Cabals?"

Lantano's plates pulled in a frown. "Yes. No, not anymore. If you're trying to keep me talking while Llewellyn wakes up, well, I wouldn't. If he comes at me conscious, I'll kill him without remorse. Now which will it be?"

Quinn gulped, and laughed weakly, "I suppose you ought to break my neck. There's always the chance that the toxin might affect my brains, and I reckon Cerberus would just hate that."

That wasn't right.

"Excuse me?" Lantano spat, quick as a flash, "What's _Cerberus_ got to do with anything?"

Now Quinn was frowning back, "They've got everything to do with it, they're the ones who want my graybox , the ones who hired you to get it."

Lantano shook his head reflexively, even as Zev's voice piped up, "What's the hold up Cassidus?"

He ignored her, gripping Quinn tighter, "What're you jabbering about? Cerberus? The bounty was posted by the Shadow Broker – _they_ hired me."

"What?" Quinn barked, hardly seeming to notice Cassidus' grip as he spoke quickly, "The Broker? No way, can't be. I haven't pissed... them off. Not lately. 'Course I did intelligence for Aria on Omega – built up a big network, but it was ever in the Broker's league," he babbled, as though to himself, running through this new possibility in his mind, "No – look friend: as weird as Cerberus hiring aliens is, they're the ones after me, they're going to be the ones who hired you."

Lantano sprang to his feet, doubt creeping into his mind, but it couldn't be...

He scowled down at Quinn, "Bullshit. You're trying to distract me!" Biotics sheathed his fist.

"No! I'm not!" Quinn spoke urgently, even as Cassidus' clawed foot forced him onto his knees, into an execution position, "Don't you now where we are? This is a _Cerberus_ safehouse! Check the room downstairs if you don't believe me – it's got their fucking watermark of the stationary!"

The Cabals train you hard, because you come to them as freaks. People are going t o be hard on freaks. So you have to be harder. Don't give them an inch back.

"No." He shook his head, "I'd never work for Cerberus." He drew back his fist.

"But you are! Come on – work with me here! If they haven't told you then that means they're not planning on keeping you around post-job! Think about it, why would the Shadow Broker need what's in _my_ head? They'd have all and then some already!" Quinn's own biotics shimmered feebly as he tried desperately to talk Cassidus down.

"But he wouldn't give him an inch.

"Cassidus!" Zev again, "There's a shuttle headed towards us, coming in from the West. Cassidus – it's a white shuttle."

What? Where?" he snapped his neck around, searching for the shuttle, "What the fuck is going?" he spat, biotics flaring angrily.

"What?" Quinn yelped back, "What is it?"

Behind him, someone murmured, "Fuck it." And then...

"Lantano! Behind you!" Zev _screamed_ in his comm.

He turned, in time to feel Garron's knife thrusting between the plates of his armour.

He let out a hiss of pain as the air was forced out of him, but held it together, _not giving an inch_.

He brought his charged fist around, slamming Garron in the ribs, aiming for where Llewellyn's shot had started off, and _feeling_ the shattered bones crunching into a new shape.

Garron screamed, spitting blood into Lantano's eye. Cassidus staggered, and then groaned as the knife withdrew from his flank. The human staggered towards him, gripping his knife, and grinning through bloody teeth. Lantano tried to rise and meet him, but numbness was spreading outwards from the epicentre pain in his side.

"Oh Keelah! Lantano they're here, its Cerberus – they're landing on _my _rooftop I –" Zevandra's voice, panicked and cracking, burst into life. And then he _was _up again, leading with another biotic punch that impacted with the traitor's right shoulder. The knife jerked from Garron's hand as he howled, the bone of his shoulder _pulverised_, his arm suddenly dangling from skin and muscle alone. Desperately, the human thumped his left fist into the side of Lantano's head, but the Turian blinked once and shrugged it off.

With an animal snarl, Lantano's hand shot out, grasping Garron's throat. He drew his talons along the Cerberus agent's neck, lifting him off his feet. The man squealed like a Pyjak, his functional hand frantically trying to prize apart Lantano's claws as the Turian locked them in place on the edges of his neck

He tore Garron's throat out with a backwards jerk and a messy burst of blood, and the man dropped. Lantano crushed the remains of the human's neck between his fingers and left him to bleed out. Quinn was nowhere to be seen, and Llewellyn was gone too – but that _did not_ matter now.

Ignoring the puncture in his side, he raced to the rooftop's edge, trying to make out what was happening on the adjacent building.

"Zev! Zevandra!" he bellowed into his comm., desperate for some confirmation of survival.

It came, but not with good news.

"Lantano, oh _Keelah_ – I'm done. I'm hit, suit puncture... bosh'tet got me, they're closing in. I'm sorry Lantano. I'm sorry, I lov – "

There was a mechanical squawk and the sound of a gunshot, a yell – from a struggle? It all sounded as though it was underwater.

He stared mutely, unable to think, to speak, to act, to save her.

He watched as the white shuttle lifted off from the rooftop, and flew off into the night's sky. Then his side burned, and his knees hit the ground hard.


	26. Chapter 26: Illium3-6

Chapter Twenty-Six: [Illium]

Ford let out a loud and unhelpful groan as Harry shoved him through a hacked door, and back otusid onto another balcony.

"Would you quit complaining? I'm the one having an early come-down. One of us has to be functioning properly and I'm just about ready to drop." Harry snapped. He was still talking even more quickly than usual, and his body heat was fluctuating between "boiling hot" and "bloody freezing".

Ford fixed him with a steely gaze as he leant against the balcony wall, and activated his medi-gel app for the second time.

"Number-bloody-one: I've just woken up after being bull-rushed by a fucking Krogan, thank you _very_ much, so forgive me being a little sluggish. And number two: I'm bloody furious with you. As soon as I'm, steady enough, I'm going to bash your fucking brains in myself. Red sand Harry! For fuck's sake I thought you'd cleaned up."

A stab of guilt shot through Harry's gut, twisting deep. "It was only way of stopping that Krogan. You saw – you felt – how big a bastard he was!"

"Yes, but you still picked it up. In the safehouse was it?" Ford's expression had progressed to a look of disgust, but now it sank into a weariness that cut Harry to the quick.

"Yeah. Yeah it was. But Ford I swear – it was just a moment, nothing serious, I'm _fine_. No excuses – I fucked up, but it won't happen again." He held out placatory hands, brows knitting into a folorn expression.

"It better bloody not," Ford grumbled as he righted himself, "Because we've been through this once before, and I am not holding your bloody hand while you destroy yourself all over again. Especially not without Lis to talk sense to you."

"Of course. I promise, it's all fine." Harry grinned weakly.

They turned, heading quickly down a spindly flight of outside stairs, both nursing their respective injuries in silence.

"So it _was_ Cerberus you reckon?" Ford eventually broke the silence, as they found themselves clambering onto another rooftop.

"I'd stake anything you like on it," Harry nodded, "They had the Turian thinking it was the Shadow Broker paying the bills, but that just wouldn't add up. They were using him as a cat's-paw, but it looks like they had a man on the inside."

"Nice to see Cerberus out-sourcing its incompetence eh?" Ford chuckled, "I would have thought they'd learnt their lesson after our eventful partnership."

Harry cracked a grin, walking to the roof's edge and looking over.

"Y'know, I hate to say it: but I think we're going to need to hit the streets."

Ford winced, the low-levels of Illium were worse than its skyline. "It'll be murder, but alright. What're you planning after that?"

"We'll make for a dock; jump on the first ship off-world. We can ride that out, and then I think we should jump again and leg it to the Citadel."

He turned a meaningful gaze on Ford, determination plain on his face.

"I reckon that's a plan Bach." Ford grinned back. At least the Citadel was clean, and it had been a _long_ time since they'd last been there.

"And, look, Ford: I think we should try and find _her_."

Ford's grin faded, a frown taking its place as he shuffled uncomfortably," You do? Really Bach? I'm not sure she'll be that pleased to see you – or me, for that matter. And what about this Alliance thing?"

Harry shot his friend a guilty look before he could carry on, "I know, I know – but with all this shit coming after us, I just think the Citadel is our best bet for staying alive. With all these people trying to crack my skull open, I'm just not sure I can deal with the Alliance right now. And she took us in once, I'm sure I can wrangle a new deal."

"I hope so..." Ford sighed, too battered to argue, "But _don't_ rule out the Alliance altogether eh? We've had this fight before. And what makes you this she'll even be on the Citadel?"

Harry grinned darkly, "Simply because of how much she hates it there. If I know Aria T'Loak, she's sitting around and fuming, living it up as the deposed Queen and growling at everyone. Just waiting for the right moment to take Omega back." He paused to tap his temple, "And with all the stuff crammed up in here, I might just have a way for her to do that."

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**A/N:**** And with this, we come to the close of the Illium arch. In the next few chapters, we'll be back on the Drake for some interaction between the crew-members, before another assignment. Hopefully this section has been entertaining, and that you'll continue enjoying the story.**

**As always, I'd love it if you fired off a review. Even if you don't have much to day, or are working through the story before saying anything, it's just nice to see that people are reading and enjoying. If you do have any suggestions or questions though, I'd love to hear from you.**

**-Nevery.**


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